Coming Home
by AtHeart150
Summary: Frank is dead. What are Claire and Brianna to do now?
1. Chapter 1 - Franks Death

Coming Home - Frank's Death

Frank was dead. The bastard. Just like that he was gone. No more. Never returning. He was driving, took a turn too fast, spun out on black ice and slid down an incline; the car rolling over three times before coming to a stop against a fairly large, old oak tree. Died instantly, the coroner determined. No alcohol or drugs in his system. No suffering. Quick and painless.

We, Bree and I, will take him back to England to bury him after he is cremated. I have already ordered the marker. He will be laid to rest next to his fucking parents in Sussex, three burial plots; no place for me. I smile. At the end I did not much care for him, I certainly would not want to lay next to him for all eternity.

I would be buried next to my home. Jamie. I just needed to find him. I had kept my promise to Frank for eighteen years. With his death, I would tell my daughter everything and begin with my search for Lallybroch.

I had a memorial for Frank at the house for the University staff and faculty along with some of his friends. I was thinking it would be a small, intimate gathering but soon found so many people at the house, I could hardly move. His peers, Boston friends and a parade of his of mistresses, past, present and most probable future he had not died... none of whom I cared to fucking know. They came to mourn their loss. They descended upon the house yesterday afternoon like vultures and stayed until early evening, dressed in their very best black ensembles. Drinking Frank's liquor. Leaving their bloody casseroles. Ashtrays overflowing with their cigarette butts. Telling me their treasured Frank anecdotes. Offering insufferable condolences. Revealing their own personal losses, like I give a fuck. Thank God for Good Scotch. Here, Here, pour me another, I'll drink to that!

My only concern is for Brianna. Bree loved Frank but her father, he is not. Whether Bree guesses, I can not say, but Jamie's daughter is no one's fool. There are family photos of the three of us scattered throughout the house, all of us smiling for the camera. It is blatantly obvious in all of them, to anyone that bothers to really look, that Frank has had no part in the creation of Bree and if I had not actually participated in the birth, I would be suspect as well. She is all Fraser, inside and out.

When I would debate Frank on those occasions when he would tell me how to raise my child, he would always correct me, reminding me that he was the only father Brianna would ever know. And, in all honesty, Frank was good to her. There for her birth, birthdays, first days and graduations of each new school until he died. He came to every parent-teach conference, class play, field hockey match, dance and piano recital. He was her biggest fan, cheerleader and as supportive as any natural father might be. He was the one that suggested the horseback riding lesson and took her to everyone of them. He taught her to handle weapons. Bree is skilled with both pistol and rifle because Frank took the time to teach her. They went camping, teaching Bree to build shelters, fires and to forage for food. When I went back to medical school, Bree basically became Frank's research assistant. Coming home after school, or, later in her life, work, I would find the two of them bent over some book or picture, foreheads touching as they scrutinized and discussed. They certainly established a rapport, a bond, if you will.

Maybe part of my animosity toward Frank stemmed from the fact that Frank had the relationship with Bree that she was so wrongfully denied with Jamie, her rightful father. By that same token, Jamie was denied his relationship with Bree. I am beside myself with anger. It is so wrong and unfair that Bree, and I, were taken from Jamie. He had given his life, to do what he knew was just and honorable AND he was punished for it. Killed. Taken from us. Never to see or hold or hear his daughter. Forever. Jamie would have loved Bree unconditionally, just as he would have with Faith. He was just never given the chance.

My mind rationalizes that the reason Bree and I are here is not of Franks doing, but my heart irrationally blames and hates him for it, none the less. Frank knew that and expressed it during one nights heated argument.

"I have never been given a chance to earn your love back, Claire. You will not let me in. I am not an imbecile, you know. Do think that I do not know that Brianna must be the spitting image of him? I see the way you look at her, the love, hunger and loss shows clearly on your face. You will never come back to me with his ghost haunting you every time you look at your daughter. I hear you at night, when you think I'm asleep, he's even in your dreams." He hurled the accusations at me with such vengeance and hostility.

I could not forgive Frank, would not accept him back into my heart after I had been given the gift of Jamie. Jamie was everything Frank could never be. I knew how Jamie would have been with Bree, and her sister Faith. I had watched him raise Fergus, though they had been more like sibling than father and son, Jamie as an older brother. They were really only fourteen years apart in age, but there was guidance and examples set. I had also witnessed him with little Maggie, Jenny and Ian's latest child. Late one night, just before we were to leave for Beauly, I woke to find Jamie gone from our bed. I had wrapped myself in one of his plaids and found him downstairs in the window seat, telling the baby his heart. For such a large, strong and fearless man, he could be so soft and tender. Whispering to her in Gàidhlig, lulling her with its rhythms and rhymes. His voice soothing her as he cradled her gently in his arms, the sweet, new born innocent that she was. Those huge, callused hands caressing her soft cheek with a touch I knew all too well. I felt the pull on my heart just to watch him. That voice and touch could soften the fiercest, most untamable stallion into a calm, gentled lady's mount.

Jamie would have taught Bree how to ride and shoot instead of Frank, and also how to brandish a blade. He would have laughed and read with her, taught her Gàidhlig, French and Latin. He would have shown her, by example, how to be courageous, smart, honorable and how to be a leader. He'd have taught her to play chess and.. and.. and to knit.. and replace a missing button... and to play shinty... and... climb trees... hunt rabbits... to hide in the tall grass and jump out to scare me as I pass... and to swim and hold her breath under water... and... DAMN IT ALL… he never had a chance to show Bree how much he loved her.

And what of Bree? A chance to grow up with people that would love her unconditionally. Understand her. Accept her for the smart, beautiful, exasperating, stubborn, euphoric human being she is. She'd have an older brother in Fergus, to protect and defend her, and Jamie and I might have given Bree other siblings as well. She'd have a sense of family and belonging. She'd have had Aunt Jenny and Uncle Ian and a plethora of cousins in the Murray Clan and the tenant's children as well. Unlike the _only child_ life she had with Frank and I; growing up in a world without aunts, uncles, siblings and cousins. And what of Murtagh? Murtagh was everything to Jamie and me; we would have been lost without him. Bree, she would have had Murtagh too. The thought of all Bree has missed makes me gasp. It just seems so unfair. It makes me so angry I want to throw something.

Frank always used Bree as a shield when we fought. Always repeating how fortunate I was he had taken me back, taken us in. "Where would you and Bree be without me?" He would demand. How very enigmatic of him to have raised her like his own. He repeatedly reminded me that Jamie had knowingly sent me back to him, pregnant. For **him** to protect and rear my lover's child as his own. Unconditionally. "Because your precious Jamie failed you, you came crawling back to me. I was left to pick up the broken pieces."

"I look at her and know exactly what your James Fraser looked like" he would hiss at me. "I may not have been that Red Headed Scottish Sperm Donor you shacked up with but I'm the only Father Bree will ever know" he'd throw at me like an 50 mph bowl in rounders. He always brought up Jamie when he had no other insults or defenses left during one of our frequent, loud and sometimes, physical altercations; safe in the knowledge that the mere mention of Jamie would knock the fight right out of me and reduce me to a sobbing mass of tears.

That's when he reminded me of Captain Jonathon Wolverton Randall, Frank's Bloody Canonized family relation, the most. Now I know that Captain Randall is not Frank's true biological descendant. Jamie and I had learned that it was really the Captain's younger brother Alex that loved and conceived a child with Mary Hawkins, starting Frank's family tree. Good begat Frank not Evil, so to speak. Captain Jonathon Randall married Mary Hawkins, only to honor his brother's dying wish, to protect her and the baby she carried. I also realize that family is family. Where Jonathon was definitely the evil son to Alex's angelic one, they shared a common genealogy, blood and traits if you will. So, when we argued, Frank and I, not yelling and screaming at each other yet, just verbally exchanging character assassinations at a higher than normal volume, Frank would change. He would, for lack of a better word, unfold; yes, that's it, Frank would almost evolve. Black Jack's facial features would be the first to emerge. Frank's face would harden, become stricter, more hostile. It would develop those deep furrows on his forehead and cheeks, lines he never had any other time. But the part that would chill me to the core was that his whole presentation would change. His physical demeanor would reshape as well as his voice. He would almost grow in height; stand straighter, taller, like he had a stick up his ass. His movements would change; there was an ease with his body, a fluidity, that Frank's never had. His voice registration would lower a half octave, deepen and become more commanding. **And** he would turn cold, calculatingly mean. It was the only time Frank would ever act like he wanted to hit me. Sometimes I would see his hands ball up into fists, just itching to punch me. This Frank scared the shit out of me. This Frank forced himself on me, raped me twice. The last time, just mere weeks before he died.

Thank God he never turned into Black Jack in front of Bree. She never saw that side of him, never knew it existed.

"Mamma, the Dean and his wife are leaving. You must come in and say good-bye" Bree calls from the back door, pulling me from my thoughts. I am puttering in my gardens. So many weeds. I never have enough time to tend to it properly. The hospital keeps me so busy. I brush the soil from my knees and remove my gardening gloves. I pick up my drink and drain the glass, turn and walk back inside the house to pretend Frank's life mattered to me, one last time.

I sigh as I finally close the front door behind the last annoying, grieving guest. I don't miss Frank but I acknowledge it is a loss for others and for Bree. We had been married on and off for twenty seven years. We may have been married in the eyes of God but he was never a real husband to me. I was never good enough for Frank; never the perfect Faculty Wife he wanted, throwing perfect parties for guests, raising the perfect children we never conceived, and agreeing with everything Frank said and did. That was not the way Jamie saw me; I was his equal, his partner in everything, allowing me the freedom to be myself, defending and protecting that right until his dying breath. Frank was not the man I loved, though maybe I had thought I did early in the marriage. I discovered quickly that I had married a father figure rather than a partner. Someone who would take care of me but did not allow me to become the person I needed to be – a healer. Jamie showed me the truest meaning of love. He also had tried early on in our marriage to reshape me, trying to suppress my will and treat me as an object or property rather than his equal. Thank gracious he loved me enough listen to my needs, to accept me as his partner. He accepted me for who I was, honoring and embracing my differences and independence. I look down at the palm of my hand and trace the " **J** " still easily seen at the base of my thumb and wish with all my heart that he was with me not just in mind and soul but physically as well; that we could still be together. A tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek. I do not wipe it away, rather I allow it to water my body as another memory of Jamie blooms within me.

I love Brianna, our daughter, she is the sole reason I have survived. She was and still is the reason I breathe. Every day I wake up and gaze upon our daughter's face is one more day I keep my promise to Jamie; our daughter is safe, loved and protected. But my heart, all of it, will always belong to him. My husband, my home, is dead and I died that day right along with him on Culloden Moor, or at least my heart had. I live for our daughter now but it isn't much of a life without him. I am just going through the motions.

That night, for the first time since Jamie last held me in his arms, I slept. I mean really slept. I reached a decision while gardening. I will change our future, Bree's and mine. I will sell this so called life of ours here in Boston. Sell everything, Lock, Stock and Barrel and move us back to Scotland. I will tell Brianna the truth, about her father and who she truly is.

I rise early the next morning, feeling fresh and alive for the first time since my return. Bree and I take a couple of boxes to clear out Frank's personal things from his office at the University. It is the last thing we need to do before we leave.

One of Frank's peers stops us in the hallway. "I am so very sorry for your loss Mrs. Randall…."

"It's Doctor Fraser" I correct him.

"Oh that's right, Frank mentioned you had finished Medical School and that you use your first husband's last name. You're a pediatrician I think he said."

"A Surgeon" I correct him.

"Ah" he replies. "Well Brianna, I am sorry for your loss. I know how much you meant to your father. To put it quite simply, you were the apple of his eye. Please let me know if there is anything I can ever do for you. We will miss your smiling face around here in the afternoons. We academics can be such a dull lot and you certainly brightened our hallways with your smile. I think I still have a picture or two you drew while you were here helping your dad after school."

"Thank you Dr. Adams. It's very kind of you to remember me. It's been 2 years since I last visited my father's office."

"Are you applying to the University for Fall Term?" he asks.

"Well, …." Bree begins.

"We won't be staying in America. We will be returning to Scotland" I interrupt. Bree needs to meet her true father and see his birthright. I will surround her in his loving embrace, in Lallybroch. I will find the estate, purchase it and move us in. I just had not told Brianna my plan yet. Guess _the cat is out of the bag_ so to speak. "We really must be going. Nice to see you" and I turn and enter Frank's office.

"Mama, why must you always be so rude to Father's friends? Why in the world would you tell him we are moving? To Scotland of all places?" Bree asks. "I thought you said you and daddy were English. From Sussex, right? That is where we are taking him, to bury him with his family?"

"Because we are leaving, Brianna. Scotland is my home, not England. I married a Scot so I am Scottish and I am returning to my home in the Highlands. And you, young lady, are going with me" and I bend to my work.

Two hours and a dozen boxes boxes later we are almost finished. The shelves and filing cabinet have been weeded out into three piles: keep, donate and trash. Only his desk remains. I hand an empty box to Bree. "You box the things on the desk and I will go through the drawers and then we will be finished. We can stop for a late lunch on the way home, the corner deli near home if you'd like. One last _Hot Pastrami on Rye and Potato Salad_?"

I open the pencil drawer and start removing various writing implements as well as a rulers, clean sheets of department stationary and university envelopes, rubber bands, paper clips, chewing gum, a roll of stamps and an assortment of coins – perhaps for coffee in the teachers lounge.

"How odd" I exclaim as I reach my hand in the back of the drawer. "Bree, here's an envelope with your... name... on it." I looked up at Brianna. Our eyes meeting, both pair flickering with confusion. "It looks to be your father's handwriting" I state cautiously and hand it to her. "Strange that it would be in his desk at work…." I add, my mind working at the implication of the envelope. _What had Frank needed to write to Bree about. What had he wanted to say to her?_

Bree stops packing and takes the envelope. She sits in one of her father's chairs with her feet tucked under her and stares at the envelope, deep in thought. Turning it over and over in her hands while she thought. It is a standard mailing envelope, not one of the university's, and is sealed with wax on the back with what looks like the impression of an " _ **R**_ " in the red wax. Raising it to her nose, it smells of wood and oil, not of her father's _Old Spice_ scent. She runs her fingers over the ink lettering on the front.

 _Brianna Ellen Randall Fraser_

 _Fraser?_ That Brianna does not understand _._ Her mother always goes by her first husband last name, _Fraser,_ but she has always used her daddy's last name, _Randall._ She looks up and sees her mother staring at her. Bree stands, folds the envelope and shoves it in her back pocket. She will read it later, in the privacy of her own bedroom and goes back to the task of packing the desk. A hot pastrami sounded really good right about now, with a cream soda, a dill pickle and barbecue potato chips. _Ruffles, because they have ridges,_ and she smiled for the first time since her daddy had died.


	2. Chapter 2 - Home

Coming Home Chapter 2 Home

I awake from a light sleep and stretch. I feel my bones grind and pop as things shift back into place. I will have to think about purchasing a new mattress. This one is a lumpy mess and way too soft. I feel a bit like the princess and the pea. I could not get comfortable last night, and as a result, I have slept rather poorly.

It could be because I am six months pregnant. 46 years old and about to be a mother for the third time. I am much too old for this. I feel myself creak like an old floor as I leverage my arm against the bed's headboard in order to sit up. What is it going to be carrying to full term I wonder worriedly. I will most likely need a small crane to help me out of bed. It had never occurred to me that I might have even be pregnant when Frank died. We had sex over the course of our marriage only a handful of time, and I had never conceived. Why should the rape a couple of weeks before his death have been any different? Frank went to his grave never knowing he would be a father. Karma has an odd sense of humor sometimes.

Jamie and I had never had an easy time of it either. Two and a half years of marriage, pretty much going at it like rabbits had resulted in only two pregnancy's and only Bree I carried to full term. I lost Faith at about six months, approximately where I am in this pregnancy. When my courses missed the second month in a row, I immediately blamed the stress of Frank's early demise for having upset my body's natural routine but when I added in the morning sickness I was exhibiting, I leaped straight to denial, choosing to ignoring the obvious. I simply could not be pregnant I told myself, so therefore I wasn't.

My friend Joe Abernathy, had been the first to said something out loud when he caught me coming out of the doctor's lounge bathroom having just relieved both my bladder and the contents of my very upset stomach.

"How far along are you L J?" he asked.

"How far along am I what? I replied as I grab a glass of water and rinse my mouth out.

"Tisk, tisk" he said with a tilt of his head. "Don't be coy with me. I recognize the signs of early pregnancy when I see them. Lets see, shall we start with the nausea, irritability – always one of my personal favorites, frequent urination, and fatigue to name just a couple." he said with a knowing smile.

"Pregnant? Me? That's not even funny Joe."

"Trust and believe. You need to schedule an GYNOB appointment, STAT. I recommend Dr. Bottoms. He'll get you started on some iron tablets. That will help with the fatigue though it might make your nausea worse. Start carrying some Saltines in your pocket for that. They really do work according to Gail. They got us through her pregnancy. That and saltines, pickles and ice cream." And he made a face that made me laugh. "Never really thought about it, but maybe that explains Lenny" and he laughed in reply.

No hiding my head in a hole like the proverbial ostrich. One trip to the Obstetrician confirmed Joe's suspicions. I am now at the beginning of my third trimester. The due date is mid August, right around the time Faith should have been born had I carried her to term.

"Faith" I uttered wistfully, closed my eyes and whispered a silent prayer... "Take care of your dad for me."

I am considered a high risk pregnancy because of my age and the difficulties I had delivering Bree. Dr. Bottoms wanted me to be seen monthly. I have my first appointment with Dr. FitzGibbons next week. Her office is in Inverness. I am not sure how much longer I will be able to drive, which means, in addition to the list of other things I need to do, I will need to find someone to take me. My _To Do_ list is growing by the minute. I smile and rub my belly. "What to you think Peanut?" _Peanut_ is the name Bree has tentatively given the baby. "we have to call the baby something... I refuse to my new sibling _Baby or_ It. I believe it is after her favorite Sunday newspaper cartoon strip by Charles Schultz though she has never actually said..

Or I suppose I could have slept poorly because today is May 1st. My husband's birthday. Jamie is 226 years old today. No, I am not going to make a cake and cover it with candles. It would burn Lallybroch to the ground. I had stayed up last night thinking I would have a drink, after midnight, to celebrate the auspicious event with him as we talked but the glass I poured sits right where I'd left it last night, on the table near the fire. He never came. Maybe he will tonight.

"Madainn mhath mo chridhe fuil. Co-là-breith math. _Good Morning my heart's blood. Happy Birthday_ and I swing my legs off the bed and onto the floor. "Cold Floor! Cold Floor!" I cry as I hop across it to the chair where I left my clothes the night before. I quickly change back into the flannel shirt and overalls I wore yesterday and tie my hair back with a kerchief. I am ready for my first full day back at Lallybroch. I have come home and there is much to do.

After Frank died it took the lawyers over three months to straighten out his trust. Seems he made some changes to it almost a year before he died that I was not made privy to. Frank, it would appear, had searched for and found Lallybroch then purchased it. He never said a word to me. He had also planned ahead and set up an educational fund for Bree. His foresight make MIT possible for her in the Fall.

I sold our home in Waltham, a suburb of Boston, and when the trust was settled and Bree graduated High School, I moved us and our belongings to Scotland. We stayed with Reverend Wakefield and his son Roger for a couple of day. Sadly, dear Mrs. Graham had passed away several years ago. Her granddaughter Fiona has stepped into the position and keeps the two Wakefield men clean and fed and the Maise organized and tidy. I hardly recognized Roger; he has grown from a small boy of five into a handsome young man of 24. Bree seems to have noticed as well.

Yesterday, after picking up some supplies, Roger drove us out to Lallybroch. Last night was our first night in the house. I've come home.

Bree, understandably, had been vocal about her discontent with my decision to relocate us to Scotland. While I explained that it was really the only place that had ever felt like home to me, she refused to accept the specific choice of Scotland.

"I lived a couple of years in Scotland before I had you. As a matter of fact you were conceived there" and added "which I will tell you all about some day very soon, I promise" when Bree looked at me in utter confusion. "You will just have to trust me darling. Lallybroch was your father's home and really the only home I have ever know. I was too young to remember the one I lived in with my parents and my Uncle Lamb and I traveled so much there was really never a place we stayed long enough to call home, unless you count the tents that traveled with us. That's probably why daddy surprised me with the house, I think, because he knew how much I loved it and how very much I need to be here. Scotland is very beautiful and full of charm. I am sure you will learn to love it. And you'll be returning to Cambridge in August. Did you know that your father and I were married in a small church in Scotland, not too far from Lallybroch? I will try to see if I can find it. I will show it to you. It's was quite a pretty little church when I last saw it, all be it a little cold and drafty. It was in need of new windows when we were married. I believe your father's Uncle made a sizable donation to a windows fund. I would like very much to see the windows they put in."

Dressed, I left the Laird's room to make my way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, passing the paintings by Ellen Fraser hanging, inspired by her children. Willie, Jamie and Jenny all staring from their time stopped memorials; reminders of what had been. My husband's blue eyes peering mischievously back at me, Sawney, the wooden snake Willie had carved for him, held tightly in his small hand and his big brother's hand resting on Jamie's shoulder, holding him still while his mother captured their likeness. Jenny, occupying the other canvas, smiling sweetly at the baby bird she holds while I'm sure her mother painted furiously, trying to capture the moment. Jenny and I may not have been the best of friends but the house is noticeably empty without her; Lallybroch is missing it's heart. I certainly miss her forceful presence and had never really mourned the loss of her or Ian.

Ellen's self portrait is missing; the place beside her children, where it had hung all those years ago, is bare. I know where the painting is. It holds a place of honor, though how it arrived there, I don't suppose I will ever know. I had discovered it, quite by accident while on a family vacation to see the sites of the Nation's Capital, Washington, D.C..

Bree and her father had made all the plans. They spent weeks researching, planning and mapping out the week, days and hours. They made a list of all the sites they absolutely had to visit: The Smithsonian and The Original Declaration of Independence, climb the Washington Monument, wade in the reflecting pool, stand in front of Abe Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson at their respective Memorials, walking under the cherry trees the line the Potomac River and spend most of one day roaming The Natural History Museum. There were side trips planned to Arlington National Cemetery and Mount Vernon, home to George Washington. My one and only request had been to visit The National Gallery of Art. We were viewing The National Gallery's Portraits exhibit, again, my choice. Frank and Bree let me know they were bored to tears. They wanted to rush through as fast a humanly possible and then start on their list of sights which were located just down the mall from the building we were currently roaming. I was ambling, a little behind Frank and Bree and as they entered the next room, I lost sight of them. A few moments later, I turned the corner and strolled into the next gallery to find the two of them standing, stock still, in front of a work of art. When I caught up and looked at the painting they were so ardently admiring...

"Ellen" I whispered and then "Dear God Jamie." as my hands came to clutch the sides of my face in an piss poor representation of Edvard Munch's _The Scream._

What I assumed were private thoughts in my head, must have been spoken out loud because Frank and Bree, both, turned and stared at me with faces frozen in shock. For there, hanging on the wall in front of me, was Ellen Caitriona Sileas MacKenzie Fraser, Jamie's very own mother and Bree's Grandmother. Her self-portrait. She was wearing her beautiful Scotch pearls and elegant boar tusk bracelets. Gifts from secret admirers who's identities her family was never privy to. I had known and had kept her secrets and was in possession of both items now. The pearls were a wedding gift from Jamie and the bracelets a sisterly gift from Jenny.

The family connection was so obvious that people were starting to taking notice... looking from the striking woman in the portrait to the young teen standing in front of the painting. A painting of a likeness so strikingly similar to the face Bree saw in the mirror every morning. Frank gave me a look of sheer loathing, took Bree by the arm and ushered her out of the gallery. I took a moment with Ellen and then I left to follow them as well. I found Frank and Bree sitting on a bench on the mall across the street from the museum. The look of fury still on Frank's face, confusion on Bree's. When Frank saw me approach, he nudged Bree. They stood and started down the mall toward the Natural History Museum, not waiting for me. When I caught up with them as they paused for a light in order to cross a street, none of us spoke. Neither of them asked for an explanation though later, after Bree had gone to bed, I offered Frank an olive branch. I explained that I had no idea the portrait was there. Frank of course, never believed me. And Bree? She, to this day, has never inquired.

That's alright. I have the pearls and the bracelets. I plan to give them to Bree today, on her father's birthday. Perhaps after dinner. They will be the introduction to a much needed and long overdue conversation.

Time to have a good look around my home I think and shake the ghosts from my shoulder. I tear my gaze from my husband and his siblings and make my way down the stairs. I will start after breakfast of crackers and tea, as my upset stomach announces the day is beginning and I quickly make for the kitchen.

First I need to go up to the kirkyard and pay my respects. I need to find a couple of stones for the cairns along my way. Then I think I will check the area where the gardens used to be; there is still time to plant a small one. I need to do it sooner rather than later. I have a couple coming around this morning to interview for a possible position. I know Bree will be leaving for Boston by early August. My Joe Abernathy and his wife Gail have offered to take Bree up to MIT for me and help get her settled in. I would, I hope, have give birth by then but _Peanut_ would be too young to travel. I will need help when Bree is gone. I need to have someone living here with me, before she leaves. I thought a woman to help with the cooking and cleaning, but the Real Estate Agent, Katie MacFay said she had found a husband and wife that might be interested. That might suit me better. I would have the main house to myself and could refurbish one of the surviving tenants cottages for the couple.

"Things seem to be falling into place quite nicely," I say as I enter the kitchen.

Frank had purchased the house, as is, furniture and all. As is also means used, mostly old and very eclectic. Some of the pieces, the extremely large ones like the Laird's bed frame, the work table in the kitchen, the dining room cabinet, sideboard and table as well as the Laird's study's desk are the very ones I remember when Jamie and I first came to live just after we were married. It seems no one could remove them from the house; they are too large to fit through the existing doorways. The rest of the furnishings are a hodgepodge mishmash of bits and pieces collected over the centuries. Certainly none of the carpets, window dressings or bedding are the same though a great deal of the window glass looks original. I swear the bedroom doors are original to the house as well but the leather hinges are gone, replaced with modern brass ones. Of course the kitchen still had the lovely large fireplace and stonework, and as I mentioned the work table is still here, but some brave soul has modernized it, Thank God. By that I mean plumbing, complete with running water, and electrical are now included but the upgrades have not been been done in, what looks like, the last thirty years. A half bath has been added to the main floor, cleverly hidden under the staircase in addition to one full bath added to each the second and third floor. There is even a wash room with a working washer off the kitchen, where a pantry had been. Sadly, no dryer; I will need to see if that can be rectified before the baby comes. I remember it took days for nappies to dry after Jenny's Maggie was born. The Priest's hole exists, in use as an canning pantry. I find several jars of home canned goods on the shelves when I go down. The stove, fridge and oven look to be ancient, but all work. There is even ice in the trays in the freezer. Bree will be pleased to have ice for her Coca-Cola. I see no sign of any heating system shy of the original fireplaces. I need to ask Katie about that as well. In the interim I had better stock up on wool sweaters, socks and blankets.

I have found Katie quite helpful in the multiple phone conversations I have had with her. She employed a cleaning crew to come in and give the house a through once over. While I realize surgery sterile is not achievable, the house is not nearly clean enough for my satisfaction. Everything has been wiped down, dusted, washed and mopped in the kitchen, living room, two bathrooms (the half bath on the ground floor and the shared bathroom on the second floor), and two bedrooms out of the multitude of rooms. It would seem that at least the phone, electrical and water all work, though I have not gotten any hot water yet. I'll need to put in two cords of wood by fall as well as gather kindling and save newspaper.

Looking out the kitchen window, I realize I will need to hire a general cleaning crew to clean the windows if I expect to use the sun as a light source. I wonder when someone was last up on the roof to check it as well.

"Start a list of essentials," I mutter out loud to myself as I make to boil water for tea. Someone had actually left a kettle. I look at the fireplace and remember the kettle that Mrs. Crook always hung there, hot water at the ready and sigh.

This is another wonderful thing Katie has done, God Bless her sweet soul. She had purchased basic food supplies and had them delivered to the house. When I checked the kitchen yesterday, I had found several boxes of dried and canned goods. She even included a bottle of scotch, such a good Scottish Lass. This morning, as I sort through the items, I find a box of Jacob's Cream Crackers. I immediately open them and pop one in my mouth. I survived Bree's pregnancy with American Saltine Crackers but they are unavailable here in Britain. Katie said her mother recommended this Irish Cracker. Most of my nausea has dissipated but I still have an unsettling stomach first thing in the morning. So tea and crackers are my morning routine followed by a piece of fruit an hour or so later... usually an apple or banana. I smile. Who cares. I'll figure it out. I am home.

I find a pizza box in the fridge when I open door, looking for cream for my tea. Roger and Bree had driven into Broch Mordha and gotten pizza last night before Roger was to drive back to Inverness. Bree was not home when I went to bed. I half expect to find his little Orange, Morris Minor park out front. I noticed the way one looked when the other was distracted. Equal attraction I would guess. I shake my head and laugh at the thought of some young boy attempting to court Bree if Jamie were alive. Bree would die an old maid, I am afraid. No boy would be good enough for her in Jamie's eyes.

I check the living room sofa for Roger (not there) as I make for the Laird's Study in search for paper to start _The Honey Do_ _List_ ; that's what Gail says she called it when she makes a list for Joe of things around the house that need to be fixed. I giggle. Joe is one of the good ones. A terrific friend. One of the keepers. I will miss him, his friendship and advise.

I enter the Lairds study and open the top drawer to find 2 paper clips, a red crayon and one copper penny. I check the two side drawers and find they are empty. There is something wrapped in butchers paper in the kitchen. I could make my list on that or the pizza box lid, in a pinch so I take the red crayon with me.

I sit on the window's ledge and look around the room. I have only been in this room a handful of times. The build-in shelves are almost empty. Almost all of Jamie and Jenny's beloved books are gone including all Jenny's well read French Romance Novels that Jared sent her over the years. I will have to haunt open markets and used book stores to try bring the shelves back to life. I do not see the Family Bible either. When Jamie and I had returned from Castle Leoch, married, Jamie had taken the Bible down from it's resting place on the shelf and entered my name next to his with an elegant squiggle between our names. When we returned from France, Jamie once again took the Family Bible down and this time added a straight line down between our names and written _Faith_. No one would have known to add Brianna's.

I shake my head. Enough melancholy. Bree will sleep until noon so no need to wait for her. Brush your teeth and lets get this day started, I tell myself. Get your list going and then it's time to say hello to Jenny and Ian.

Have all Appliances checked – stove, oven, fridge, washing machine Ask about Dryer.

Small appliances – toaster, coffee pot, vacuum cleaner, broom, dust bin.

Have water heater checked/replaced?

Check water pump

Plumbing?

What heats house?

Estimate for refurbishment of tenant cottage.

Core of Firewood

Kitchen – pots and pans. Dishes, glasses, carving/cooking knives, eating utensils, serving/cooking spoons, cutting board, light bulbs, kitchen towels, apron, oven mitts

Bed rooms – New Mattresses! pillows, sheets, blankets, comforters

eventually 3 beds w/mattresses.

Bath room- towels, wash cloths, soap, shampoo

Furniture – chairs, end tables, Padded chairs, curtains, rods, rugs, lamps

rags, cleaning supplies, mop, bucket

rake, shovel, screw driver, hammer

Broken windows (3) repaired/replaced

Steps to house... loose stone

Remove shutters... whose idea what that ? Repair holes in stone

Fences?

Barn?

Need: Chickens – eggs

Goats – Cut Grass Soap?

Bees – Honey?

Cows?

Horse?

Sheep?

HELP!

Finally, I have to stop. I need to clear my head. I need air. I pull my Irish wool sweater over my head, find my gloves and hat and slip out the front door. I am careful not to step on the loose stone. I turn the corner and almost walk straight into the back of Roger's car.

Well, it will be very helpful for him to stay. I can send he and Bree into Broch Mordha for supplies. It may be that we will have to go back to Inverness for a day or two so I can arrange for appliance repairs and mattresses. My head hurts just from thinking of everything that needs to be done.

I take a deep breath and look for the path on the far side of the yard. It is fairly easy to follow, once I find it. It almost looks as if someone uses it with some regularly. It takes me a while, the climb is more uphill than I remember but I find the kirkyard by following the path. The wall surrounding the graves is hidden behind some very tall grass, but the path leads right to the gate. I manage to find half five palm size stones as I walk. I hope that will be enough. I wonder if they will have a marker for Jamie, even though I know he and Murtagh are resting in a mass grave at Culloden. A tear rolls down my face at the thought of the way they must have died. I set the stones down on the wall and open the gate. I straighten my shoulders and walk in.

Someone has definitely been coming with regularity. The yard is not manicured but the wild grass is neat and trimmed. Someone must have goats that they bring up here for it to be this cropped. I can clearly see the headstone and cairns mark several of the graves, but not all of them. I know Brian's. Jamie had brought me here before we left for the last time. I recognize Willie and Ellen's as well. Both to the left of Brian's. On the right are two newer head stones. As I approach I can read the names... Ian & Jenny share a Companions Headstone. The third belongs to Caitlin Maisri Murray and the year 1749. Jenny had given birth to a baby that died the same day it was born.

"Oh Jenny" I say with a sob. "I am so very sorry for your loss." I wish I had been there. I might have been able to help." Tears begin to stream down my face.

"I told you I should have come back here with Fergus to Lallybroch, Jamie" I yell. "But no, you God Damn Stubborn Scot. You had to send me back to Frank. Look what I might have prevented! I might have saved your niece and spared your sister and brother-in-law heartache. And just look at the state I am in" I add with a whisper, rubbing my belly.

I wipe my nose on my kerchief and my sleeve takes care of my tears as I take a seat on the wall, feet hanging into the yard. I clear my throat and attempt a start.

"Hello family" I begin and then stop. _That's a pretty stupid start_ I mutter to myself but press on... "I wish I could have come sooner." _Lame Claire, really lame_ I add as I shake my head. "I really miss you." I stop and roll my eyes. This is dumb. I am not even sure, with the exception of Jamie's direct family, who else is even up here. Out of Jamie's family, I had only met Jenny and Ian as I hardly think wee Jamie and Maggie count. I am fairly certain Jenny did not much care for me as her brother's wife. I think for a Sassenach, I was fine. As a healer I was better than good. But as a choice of wife for her only living brother and Laird to Lallybroch, I am sure I was pretty close to last choice on her list. I'd bet she'd have been happier with Laoghaire MacKenzie than me. Not that Jamie didn't care what Jenny thought... He loved her but I was his heart, of that I am certain and he would never have stopped coming to my bed even if Jenny had asked him to. _Oh dear God, had she ever actually asked him, I wondered?_ Jamie and I had promised each other truth in what we told each other but that there was room for secrets. _Shit._ I'd never know now but I now will wonder about it for the rest of my life. _Damn._

I try again. "Jenny. Ian. Fergus? If any of you Or all of you, can hear me? I am so sorry. I should have been there for you, after Culloden, after Jamie went back to die. I should have just turned for home. To you, my family and not gone through the stones. But how could I not honor Jamie's last wish. He made me promise. I took an oath to obey my husband." _Although when had I ever directly obeyed Jamie? I can not, in all honesty, say. Maybe if I had, Jamie might have lived. Survived. It was, after all, my bright idea to try and change history, to go to Paris._ "I am so very sorry."

I shake my head in sorrow. I look up to the sky with tears streaming down my face. There is a strong breeze and I watch the clouds blow by and just try to breathe. What had I done? The forget-me-nots that had led me back to the stones that very first night I traveled. To the stone's cries that made me instinctively set my hand on it to try and heal it. To end its pain, its roars. To Murtagh, in all that chaos, finding me, rescuing me, for Black Jack, without a doubt, would have killed me after he'd finished with me; for a _Lady_ , crying rape by a British Officer, would have surely ended his career. And then to my Jamie. Hurt, needing my healing hands... and that long ride back to Leoch. I had stirred desires in Jamie and I knew it. And how could I have not fallen in love with him.

But was I his Achilles heel that led to his downfall? A _Femme Fatale_ perhaps. Was I Eve, tempting Adam with an apple. Or Helen of Troy bringing on the Trojan War when Paris won her heart? Or Delilah to Samson who had just simply given his heart to the wrong girl. All evidence pointed to me. I had ruined an entire family's lives. I had been their downfall.

I have only one thing to offer in my defense. Brianna. Our daughter. Faith too, if she had lived; hers was just another shinning example of the mayhem I managed to leave in my wake. But Bree. She stands tall as a tribute to Jamie. She is the price we paid. If I had stayed I would have lost her just as I had lost Faith. It all would have been for naught. And had I to do it all over again, I suppose I would, once again, pay that price. It has never dawned on me until now, how I have ruined the Fraser/Murray lives. Perhaps Laoghaire had been right all along, I truly am a witch. Jamie might have lived and been happy with someone else. Just anyone else but Laoghaire, I think. Anyone but her.

"I am so sorry Jamie. No wonder you did not come to talk to me last night." I scoot back off the wall. "Today is not a good day perhaps. Maybe because it's your birthday. Maybe my hormones are making me crazy. I don't know. Jamie's daughter is here with me until August. She will go off to University then. I will bring Brianna up to meet you all before she leaves, that I promise. Jamie asked me to name the child after you Brian. Rest well my family. I tap the wall twice with my hand and turn.

I place a stone on each of the cairns, then walk away with my head hanging low and feet dragging. I am beginning to realize perhaps finding and purchasing Lallybroch had be a punishment on Frank's part. He had to have known I'd come. He had to have known, that once here, I'd never leave. What have you done Frank? And why?

I think about making my way down to the mill but it is already after 9. I am not sure what time the Realtor told the O'Connells to come, Seamus and Glenna, about the housekeeping position. So I turn and head back toward the house. I should have coffee and biscuits ready, I suppose...

I pause as I pass the large walnut tree. I swear the tree is laughing at me. I pick up a small stone and throw it, hitting the tree in the trunk. "Teach you to laugh at me." I make my way back down the path - to home.

#####

I quickly step back behind the walnut tree, unnoticed as she passes. I had seen her leave the main house and walk up the hill. I had heard she had finally come to Lallybroch so I arranged to drop by the house... to see her. Rather than wait for her to return from her walk, curiosity got the better of me so I followed her as she made her way up the hill. I knew what was up there at the end of the path, but did she? Did she remember?

Clearly she did. She had to look for it but knew it was there, somewhere. It took some searching on her part. She lost the path several times. Her memories failed her, unable to retrace the exact steps to where she would find them. She stayed true to the trail that I kept clear and soon discovered the kirkyard, hidden from most by the tall grass. If you did not ken it was there, ye'd walk right past it. She found wall that led to the gate and entered quietly. Respectfully. She even brought stones for the cairns. She remembered. A true Scot she is. She elects to sit upon the wall and pay her respects rather than kneel at the graves themselves; speaking to them as a whole rather than individuals. Keeping her distance.

I watch her as she climbed the hill. She is still in good shape, despite her age. Her bonnie arse swinging in display as she climbs. It makes my cock hard watching her move. She does not struggle or stop to take a rest as she makes her way up the path. She is really quite bonnie, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. I need to tell her that when we talk. Both my mam and sister being verra bonnie also, so I speak from knowing. Her curly brown hair is restrained but is being blown about by the breeze anyway. The curls seem to have a life of their own. Lovely long fingers try desperately to keep them out of her face and behind the kerchief she wears. I am most definitely attracted to her. She is a kindred spirit, I can feel it. There is a connection. Why has she come to Lallybroch?

She spoke to them, calling them by name. Calling them Family. Her last name is Fraser, according to Katie, and the husband, now dead, was Randall. The grave stones go back to the 1700's, when the house was first built. Frasers and Murrays have lived here as far back as that. Since the beginning. Why does she keep apologizing? Has she done something wrong? I sigh when she places a rock on the oldest cairns and says her goodbyes. She tells them she'll be back. She has a daughter they need to meet she explains. A corner of my lip lifts in the hint of a smile. _A daughter._ _Brianna_ and a small laugh escapes.

Suddenly I gasp as I watch her walk toward the tree I hide behind. Katie said nothing about the woman being with child. That takes me by surprise and I whisper a silent pray for the woman and her unborn child. That changes things... perhaps...

Why had Frank Randall done such a thing for his wife? Why had he purchased the Estate for his English wife? His English wife who lived in America. Randall had certainly not seem excited to meet him in Broch Mordha, however brief it was. Katie said the daughter was going to University back in the States. She would be leaving in a couple of months. Katie told me it had been arranged for the O'Connells to go by this morning to interview for the positions of caretaker and housekeeper. That's why I had come by so early, to see her. To speak with her. To make her an offer... if she would have me.

When the top of her head disappears below the rise, I come out from behind the tree and follow cautiously behind her. When I reach the start of the sloping trail that leads back to Lallybroch, I watch her as she walks. She had a gracefulness about her, an elegance if you will. Still an English Lady. Despite all the derogatory things I have heard her tell the family of graves. She blames herself for their deaths yet she walks with her head held high. She is brave, this woman. Strong and bonnie, honed and sharp. She can take care of herself. She is not weak or feeble minded I think and nod knowingly.

I loose sight of her for moment and then she comes back into view as she enters in the main house yard. Instead of walking back into the house she walks around the back, between the main house and the barn, bends and pulls up a weed. She holds it to her nose and smells. She wipes the weed's root with her other hand and puts it to her mouth and takes a bite. Whatever she has found, she is eating it.

My curiosity is peaked. Just as I start down the hill after her, I notice a movement in an upstairs window. A blur of red. I still have eyes like an Hawk. I stop and watch. No. Nothing is there now. Whatever was there is gone. It must be the daughter, watching.

By the time I make it down the hill and to the edge of the yard, I see she is on her knees digging in the dirt with her hands. Her back is to me. She has a pile of what looks like carrots, turnips and radishes in a small pile beside her. No one has lived in this house for over 20 years. Yet somehow this woman has found the house's vegetable garden in all those weeds and managed to produce vegetables from it. My wife had quite the little nose on her, I remember and smile. She could find a carrot faster than Donas or ken if I were bleeding almost before I did. She always smelled of earth, her wee herbs and lavender. I wonder if she still does.

I check the window and catch a quick glimpse of the daughter. She is tall for a lass. I can tell by how her form fits in the window. Just a couple of inches shorter than me, certainly taller than her mother. Long, red hair. Not her mother's brown. And straight, not curly. She must take after the father, I think and my lip curls into a smile.

I walk up to the woman, my feet make very little noise in the dirt. I stop beside her. My large dirty boots next to her pile of harvested vegetables. I can wait. She will notice my feet, eventually. I am correct, of course and it dinna take her long.


	3. Chapter 3 - Home Part II

Coming Home – Chapter 3 - Home Part II

I found the garden hidden amongst the weeds, right were Jenny had it all those years ago. I am not sure how many years the house has stood empty, but it seems the garden is managing to re-seed it's self. It is a mess to be sure, containing more weeds than vegetables, but it is still producing. My foraging thus far has produced carrots, turnips and radishes, at least a dozen of each. I even find several small potatoes. A veritable feast for dinner tonight. I also have an enormous pile of weeds to show for my half hour of efforts, which I will use to start a compost pile. I feel the start of a smile. It feels good to be home, to feel the soil between my fingers and the sun on my back. The air is clean and clear. It is good to be home and I can not wait to find the time to spend working the soil and bring back the fine working garden Jenny had maintained for years. It brings the first real smile to my face, the one that comes from the heart and encompasses your entire face. The first one I can remember in quite a long time.

I knock the dirt off the carrots and reach to set them with the rest of the harvested bounty, when I notice the boots standing quietly beside me. A man's boots. A good sized man, I'd guess by the size of their feet.

"Roger, where did you find those boots?" and I move sideways on my knees, like a crab, to forage in a different spot.

"No Roger" a deep voice declares. I know that voice, like I know my own or Bree's. It is so familiar and warms my heart to hear it. No, I shake my head. It couldn't be. He has never come to me during the day. Only at night, in my dreams, does he come to be with me. Am I still asleep in bed then, only thinking I am awake...? A cold chill runs down my spine.

Well, lets see where my subconscious takes me then. I stop and wipe my hands off on my overalls, turning to face the form occupying the boots. The sun is almost right behind the man's head. I can tell he is tall and that is about all with the sun blinding me. I place my hand over my eyes in an attempt to block the sun and see my unexpected guest's face. I am quite sure he is looking down at me.

"Oh," I reply. "If you're not Roger then Katie MacFay has sent you. She says your name is O'Connell" I state as I start to rise. "Seamus and Glenna O'Connell, I am sure that is what she said to call you. I am so glad you have come." I grunt with effort and find I can not push up to a stand. "I am slow to move now that I am six months along." I hold my hand out... "Would you mind helping an old, very pregnant woman to her feet?" and I look up smiling. The sun is still blocking my view of his face.

"Name's no O'Connell either. 'Tis Malcolm. Alex Malcolm."

It sounds as if the man almost laughs when he said it. Like it is a joke.

"Aye," He chuckles and his large calloused hand appears out of nowhere. "My sister always had the same troubles when she was close to giving birth. She was a wee thing and would get so large toward the end that her ankles and feet would swell someth'n fierce and she would look like a waddling duck when she walked. I always wanted to quack when she passed within sight but had enough sense no to try it. She'd have boxed my ears for sure."

I could hear the pride in the man's voice. I wonder just who he is and what he wants. It's not likely he just wandered onto the farm. Lallybroch is not on a well traveled road; it takes some know how to find it. I place my hand in his and as his hand grips mine I feel a tingle that has a long forgotten familiarity to it. "You sound like a smart man." I say as I brush the thought away. It takes all my focus and leg muscles to attempt to rise. Mr. Malcolm feels the effort it takes me. With the swiftness of an experienced man that has lived around large, cumbersome, pregnant women, he firmly grasps the elbow of my other arm and with some effort lifts me to my feet. He makes a discernible _grunt_ while doing so.

"Do not begin to think it wise to offer a guess as to how much I weigh..." I tell him sternly but give him my best, most gratefully smile in thanks. I would not be standing if not for this man. I remove both my limbs from his grasp and wipe my hands on my overalls again. "Thank you very much, kind sir. I fear I would have been down on my knees until my daughter and her boyfriend came downstairs looking for their breakfast."

I raise my head to catch a glimpse of my gentleman caller and introduce myself at the same time. "My name is Claire. Claire Fraser" and I find that the man is indeed quite tall. The sun no longer shines directly in my eye but rather creates an almost halo effect around my visitor's head. He looks almost _Heaven Sent_ and my mind quickly wonders if he has wings tucked inside his jacket. I raise my hand once again to shield my eyes and find I am looking into the face of my own hearts blood. "Jamie" I utter. My husband, Jamie, is standing right in front of me.

"Jamie" I manage to squeak a second time before I take a step backwards in shock... _gasp._.."You"... _choke_..."How"... and my voice is gone as I stumble back 3 or 4 more steps. Claire, you imbecile, you are going to faint, my brain tells me in an attempt to stay the panic. Acting purely on instinct, I place both hands on my knees and bend at the waist in, an attempt to lower my head to a position below my heart, to keep the blood flowing to my brain... to stop myself from fainting. I quickly realize with my belly there is no way I am getting my head between my knees. Great, I will faint and fall like a Great Beached Whale. There will be nothing graceful about it.

"Are ye alright?" A slightly panicked Mr. Malcolm asks and reaches for my elbow. "I think ye need to sit down. Ye look as if ye've seen a ghost. Come, let me help ye to the steps" and I feel a steady, strong arm wrap around my waist and the other must have hold of my elbow for I feel a firm grip there as well, as Alex almost carries me the the steps that lead up to the kitchen door. "Ye are pale to begin with but ye have no color to ye 'tal now."

"You are not real" I chant to myself. "You are not Jamie. You cannot be Jamie." I stutter like an idiot as we move to the steps. "My husband is dead."

"Oh but I am real, Sassenach." I hear Jamie's voice whisper. Did that voice just come from Mr. Malcolm? I am so confused. Jamie/Alex lowers me to a seated position as carefully as one would handle a new born baby. I instinctively lower my head as close to between my knees as I can get with a enormously protrusive belly.

"Breathe Claire. Slow breaths. Yer going to hyper something." Jamie/Alex says with a bit of panic in his voice now.

"Hyperventilate."

"Aye, that's the word. It's one of the words ye use that I ken never remember. It's got enough Latin, ye think that I would find it an easy one."

Jamie/Alex is kneeling in front of me... I can tell because I can see his knees. "Ooohhhh," I groan out loud and my head wobbles. I lace my fingers behind my head and pull it down so my forehead actually comes in contact with my legs. Whoever he is, Jamie/Alex is wearing a kilt and I'd know those knees anywhere. He certainly looks just like my husband. If he isn't Jamie then he's a dead ringer for him. For some reason the image of Frank laughing at me jumps into my thoughts. What has Frank done, I wonder. Odd where your mind wanders in stressful situations.

"I''m going to get ye some water. I'll be right back." Jamie/Alex pushes past me and when he tries to open the kitchen door, he finds it is locked.

"Sorry Jamie.. I mean Alex... I mean... Oh Fuck... I used the front door when I left the house this morning..." as I wave my left hand toward the front of the house. His leg bumps my hand out of the way and his kilt brushes my face as it flies by me, down the stairs then around the corner of the house.

I pull my arms tightly around myself, and start to rock. "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie. What the hell is going on? For your birthday you decide want to give me a heart attack so I can join you, is that it? Where ever you are you Bloody Scot, you'd better not be laughing." I need to look for scares... that's it. The small triangle at his throat or the ones on his right hand, both from Black Jack or the small " **C** " I carved into the base of his thumb of his left hand. No need to see his back...

I hear the door unlock and open behind me. The kilt brushes past again and suddenly there is a glass shoved into my hand.

"It's water. Drink it." A command, not a request.

I comply, taking two small sips. "I'd rather have whiskey to be totally honest with you. There's a bottle somewhere in there. Be a dear and fetch it." I look up into a pair of worried, gorgeous blue cat eyes that I have missed for eighteen years. "Oh Jamie" I sigh. "Please let it truly be you..."

"Give me your hand" I command as I set the glass down and hold out mine. He offers me his right, palm down. Nothing. Not a single stitch mark on any of the fingers, nor from the nail. I look up a to a stoic face. I forgot how good a card player he really was.

"Make a fist" I order. He makes a perfect fit. The middle finger had never healed correctly after it was basically shattered. He could never bend it. This hand is perfect.

One last try. "Give me your left." He knows and presents it to me palm up. It's there, faded, like mine, but there if you know where to look, and I certainly do. I caress it with my fingertips. I look up and smile. And there it is, my confirmation... that half smile, raised eyebrow thing that only he does that melts me to my core... "It's really you. How is that possible? How long have you been here?"

I pick up the glass of water but my hands start to shake. The water sloshes out of the glass and onto my overalls. Jamie quickly snatches it from my grasp before I drop it. "I see you still have your cat like reflexes."

"Aye, that's from raising my lad, Willie. He is forever knocking things over or drop'n dishes when he helps te clear the table..." And suddenly he looks up from setting the glass down on the step, realizing he has said more than he intended.

I am shaking for a totally different reason now. I just stare at him. _He has a child... a boy... Who? Where is the mother?_

He laughs in an attempt to break the tension. "Aye Claire, it's me. And I think ye have some explaining to do..." He shuffles the glass he just set down beside me and then places his finger tips lightly on my belly.

"Me?" I say sharply and I slap his hand away. "Jamie, seriously?" for now I truly believe it is him. "I have some explaining to do? What about you, Alex Malcolm? You have a son, Willie?" _And what of the child's mother_ I wisely decide to not ask. "James _Alexander Malcolm_ MacKenzie Fraser, you are an infuriating ass sometimes, do you realize that?"

He stands. "Perhaps it is I best go now, Claire. I think maybe my presence is a bit of a shock to ye. I dinna wish to upset ye any more than I already have. You said sudden shock was no good for the bairn nor the mother when Jenny was with child" He says with concern. "I will go and come back tomorrow with William for I'd like for ye to meet my son. He is braw, Claire. Smart and strong. And Fergus, he is here as well. He inquires daily if this is to be the day you will return to us, as Master Raymond promised. And I would like to meet my daughter. "Brianna, aye? Well, I did ask ye te name the child after my father, though I though the bairn would be a lad when I made the request. Perhaps the lass will be home tomorrow?" He asks with hope in his voice.

"Oh, remembered the girl did you? Bit of an afterthought for your daughter Bree is it then..." came vomiting out of my mouth before my brain had a chance to edit itself. I regretted it before I even completed the statement. The look on his face told me the damage I had inflicted.

"I'm so sorry Jamie. I should not have said that... it was unkind. I don't really know why I said it." and show him the remorse I feel.

He just stares at me in disbelief.

"I just... It upset me that you put Brianna third, is all." and I sigh. "Of course I want to meet your son, _and hear all about his mother_ I wisely kept to myself. And Fergus, how changed he must be from the boy of 12 he was when I left. I can not wait to meet the man he has become. You know that, don't you Jamie?"

"Or is it back to Alex now?" I ask and kick the ground.

"Says the woman carrying another man's child in her." He's look back is protected. He has shut down, no longer showing me how he feels. "You don't even ask about Willie's mother though I see on ye face ye want to know... is the child you carry even Franks, Claire?"

I look up into those brilliant blue eyes that I always lost my soul in, once upon a time, as a tightness envelopes my chest, squeezing my heart. I cannot breathe. He is leaving, going away. I can tell. I feel the tears well in my eyes. I close my eyes and hear myself beg "Please don't go… don't leave me." My eyes fly open as I gasp, trying to catch air into my lungs. "I've only just found you…" and I reach out my hand to touch him, make sure that he is real. "Why? Is it me? Do you not want me?" and I run my fingers through my hair and then over my protruding belly. I can barely see the toes of my boots I am so big. "We just need to talk..." Then I realize… "it's because of the baby, isn't it? Because it's Frank's or just because I'm pregnant and it's not yours?" and I look back up into his eye to see what his face will tell me.

His eyes narrow and darken.

I hear a distant noise that sounds… almost like an animal being torn to shreds. I realize that the sound comes from me as my legs wobble and I fall backwards, my hand reaching for the steps to try and stop my fall.

I cannot breathe. I gasp for breath. My lungs will not listen to what my brain is telling them to do. I hear the _Heep… Heep… Heep…_ as I try to suck in air through an airway that won't allow any through. The airway is closing, allowing almost no air to reach my lungs; failing me now in my time of need. _Heep… Heep… Heep.._. Still gasping for air. I am having a panic attack that is A &E worthy. Clear as day. No air for words and I feel the panic start to envelope me. Fear. Fear that he is leaving. _Heep... Heep... Heep..._ I feel light headed now as I lay my head on the step. Calm yourself Claire. Close your eyes and focus on your breathing. _Heep... Heep... Heep..._ So tired. How did I get so tired... I close my eyes. I will die without him. _Hhheeeepppp._ Breathe through your nose Claire.

"Claire" He screams. Panic clearly in his voice. "NO, No, No Claire, breathe damn ye." He is back and lies awkwardly on the steps beside me, our foreheads touching. He places my hand over his heart. I see the panic in his face, his eyes. "Feel my heart Claire. It is matched to yours, as always. Pounding from the fear. Close ye eyes and breathe with me. I am here, Claire." He hand is trembling as he places it on my cheek and with his thumb, gently wipes away the tear that had escaped and rolls down my face, as he'd done so many times before.

Minutes pass. My racing heart slows and my breathing eases. Jamie kisses my forehead in reward. "That's my lass. Keep breathing, Claire. Do'na die on me now. How would I explain it to Brianna - _the very sight of me kill'd ye mam, Brianna_ …."

I snort.

He smiles.

"Fucking Bastard." I whisper.

"Ye've called me that before. I canna fault ye use of it this time either."

I cough.

"Ye ken you pronounce her name all wrong... 'tis B r ee aa n uh no B r eye ann a."

"Oh" and I finally open my eyes.

He looks at me and smiles. Relief washes over his face.

"I'm sorry Jamie. Forgive me."

"Always. Though there is nothing to forgive, mo neighan donn. We are just finding our way back after almost twenty years, 'tis all. Ye are still mine are ye no?"

"Always. Never stopped." I sigh and close my eyes again. "Tell my you are not married or living with Willie's mother. Lie to me if you must."

"Claire, the truth of it is... Willie's mam died giving birth to him. And part of my anger 'tis you and the bairn" but rushes to add "but not in a bad way" and he moves his hand to my protruding belly and places his fingers lightly on it. "It is Frank's , is it no?"

I nod. The how and the why can wait for another time just like Willie's mother.

"We need to talk, you and I. I've got to go now; I need to relieve Katie, she's watch'n Willie. I give ye my word, I'll come back tomorrow."

"NO!" I say too loudly and too quickly. I startle him. "I'll go… May I go with you…? We can take the truck. It will be faster than you walking… please? Please, let me come with you." I plead.

"I'd rather no be parted from you either, Sassenach. You just seem so tired. Let me take ye upstairs for a wee lie down and I will come back before ye wake."

My fingers grab handfuls of the front of his shirt and hold on as if for dear life. I will not allow him to disappear from me. Like he has so many times in my dreams.

I feel his smile before our lips part, he moves his calloused hand from my cheek and places it over one of mine with a death grip on his shirt. "I'm here, my Sassenach. I will not go unless that is what you wish. We will talk but I need to fetch Willie from Katie. I told her I'd only be gone an hour and it is well past that." He kisses me again.

His lips linger in this kiss. They are as soft and warm as I remember. There is a hint of honey and milk on them now. His smell is new. No longer of peat, heather and horses. The new smells must be from the print shop: ink and oil.

"I will not be separated from you, not for quite a while, my dear lad" and I cup his face between my hands. "I finally have you back. You are not leaving my sight." I kiss him hard and long. "Get used to my fat ass waddling around after you. Best get to work on your _Quacking._ " I say with a smile, tucking my hands up under my armpits, flapping my elbows and give him a quick "quack, quack."

When Jamie finally stops laughing and I wipe the tears from his face with my sleeve, he says, "Weel, that is nice to ken Mo Neighan Donn. Ye ken how partial I am to your lovely round arse" and he grabs me. "Maybe it will be me following you, if only for the view, aye? It was lovely te watch ye walk down the hill back to the house."

His reflexes are still like a cat. He catches my hand before I come close to cuffing him. We both smile and laugh and end in yet another kiss.

"God, I missed ye" he says at the same time I utter "I missed you so much."

The back door to the kitchen jerks open. Startled, I jump and Jamie grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet and behind him, taking a protective stance in front of me. I peek around his shoulder to see a very angry Bree looking down at us from the door way. Roger is right behind her.

"Just who the hell are you?" she growls with narrow blue eyes boring into Jamie. "You just leave my mother alone, you hear me?"

"Mam" Jamie chokes and stumbles backwards a half step.

"Bree," I begin as I start to walk out from behind Jamie.

"Brianna?" Jamie whispers and places his hand on my hip to hold me behind him. "Jesus, she looks just like my mam Claire" he whispers as he half turns and looks down at me. A large knowing smile first buds then blooms across his face, full of pride. It clearly states his thought - _My daughter._

I smile back and nod. "She is all Fraser, inside and out, Jamie. So like you it nearly breaks my heart to watch her sometimes."

Bree stops all forward motion and focuses on the tall red haired man at the bottom of the steps. He has stopped her mother from coming to her. Is it an act of protection or possession? And from what? Bree gives him a good look over, tip to toe. Tall, over 6 feet. Taller than Roger. Flaming Auburn hair like hers only he has curls. And his eyes… his have the exact same color and shape. That makes her catch the door jamb edge for support as she eases herself down to sit on the top step. They are eye level with each other now. She, sitting on the top step and he, standing. It's like looking at her face in a mirror. Well, not exactly her face but whoever he is, he's family, and very familiar with her mother. Definitely a Fraser... Older than a cousin though… Uncle perhaps? No wonder her mom wanted to come back to Scotland. To this Lallybroch. She said it was her home. Her family.

"Damn Bree, did you know you had family here?" Roger asks.

Bree's mind is working 100 miles a minute. She's missing something. What did her dad's letter say….

 _Dearest Brianna-_

 _...Before you were born your mother disappeared once while we were vacationing in the Scottish Highlands. The police nor Reverend Wakefield and I could find any trace of her. She had gone to look for herbs, flowers and such and never returned that night. I should have gone with her but didn't; I was too focused on my own research at the time. We found the car the next day… in the hills. After months of looking, the police said she had most likely run off with a lover and would return only if she wanted to. I refused to believe that. 2 ½ years later she did, reluctantly, return to me. She was pregnant, with you, Bree. She had a wild tale about where she had been. I don't think I ever really believed her. She said your father had died and made her promise to return to me. That you were mine to raise, take care of and protect. Time passed and I began to look into your mother's story. I looked, and with Reverend Wakefield's help, I found Lallybroch, the home your mother babbles on and on about, endlessly. I wanted to see it for myself so I flew back to Scotland and Reverend Wakefield and I drove from Inverness to look the Estate over. To validate her story. I had no intentions of purchasing it until… well, until I found him Bree, your father. He is alive and lives in Broch Mordha. He's a printer. You look just like him, in almost every detail. When I confronted him, he said his name was Malcolm, Alex Malcolm. Your mom always said your father's name was Fraser, James Fraser, hence the reason she calls herself Claire Fraser and you Brianna Fraser. I thought it was your mother's attempt to cover her trail so I never told your mom about my discovery._

 _I tried to find out about him. I know only that he is new to the town. Been there a little less than a year. You have two brothers apparently. One is 15 years older than you and one 12 years younger. No one seems to know about a wife or where he was before they all arrived in Broch Mordha._

 _You have been a gift to me from the very beginning, Bree. I raised you. You ARE my daughter Brianna. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I will always love you as my very own._

 _This is our little secret, yours and mine. Your mother will take you back with her to Lallybroch when she finds I bought it. It is really my gift to you. I want you to have a chance to confront him, your father. Face to Face. I know you will want that at some point in your life. You now own his family's ancestral home, do with it as you will._

 _I have made sure there is money for you to attend MIT if that is your wish. You've worked hard at your studies. You've always said you wanted to go to Engineering School and MIT is the best. Do not let your mother talk you out of what you want._

 _Happy 18_ _th_ _Birthday, Sweetheart._

 _Love Daddy_

"Wait a minute… Mama, who is this guy, exactly? Is he Alex Malcolm?" Bree asks looking from my face to Jamie's.

"Alex Malcolm? Bree, where did you ever hear that name?" I question. Bree stands. She is now looking down on Jamie. "You know Roger and I went by The Print Shop last night. I wanted to meet you." She wore a defiant look on her face.

"Jamie" I spoke to the side of his face, for he was staring intensely at Bree. "Jamie" I repeat and he turns and looks down at me.

"Yes, Mo Neighan Donn?" he says while his fingers drums his thigh.

Oh, thinking are we and I nod at his drumming digits. "Alex Malcolm? Sawney? I thought you used it earlier to be funny. Are you here in Broch Mordha incognito?"

"Incognito?"

"Using a pseudonym."

"A pseudo what?"

"A Fake Name. Are you hiding out? Using a fictitious name for a reason?"

"Ah, No, no really. Master Raymond said it just would not be wise to use Fraser until I found ye, is all. So I ken you'd recognize Alexander Malcolm if ye heard it. Willie kens his name is Fraser but plays along using Malcolm. He thinks it's a bit of a game. Fergus go by Fraser."

"Master Raymond? Really? Is he here? Now?"

"No, no Sassenach. He said he could'na stay. He said you would be along in a couple of months… that the traveling was not so precise with non-travelers like Willie and I. Fergus, it seems, is a traveler, like you. Raymond says you two are family. Fergus is your brother's child. I did no ken ye have a brother. I thought I remember ye say ye had no family, Claire. Even ye Uncle Lambert is dead."

Ok. Now I need to sit down again before I faint.

"Are ye alright Claire? Ye are go'n pale again. And for you… that's saying a good deal." And he smiles.

"Alright the two of you just stop." Bree demands. "I have questions that need answering. Now."

"She's a wee bossy thing, is she no?" Jamie states as he takes my elbow and helps me up the stairs.

"Oh, you have no idea, Jamie" and we climb the stairs, passing Bree and Roger on the way into the house. "I need whiskey."

"Aye. Ye are going to need it when I tell ye who Master Raymond says ye brother is. Where do ye keep the whiskey?"

I stop and look at him. "Just who is my brother, pray tell."

Jamie just smiles. "Ye'll be needing that drink first, Sassenach. Remember, it makes him my brother by marriage too. We are in this together."

"Jesus Jamie, who the hell is it? Just tell me."

"And poor Fergus..." Jamie smiles, shakes his head and moves me forward.

"Oh, well that's just bloody rude not to tell me now, isn't it?"

"Robert François Quesnay de St. Germain." Jamie states clearly and helps me to the bench seat at the kitchen table. "It's in this box….?" he asks as he roots around, pulling out several items and then "Voila. Whiskey." He remove the cap and take a good pull and then passes the bottle to me.

Still dumbfounded, I look at the label. _Glenfiddich_. "Oh, I like this one. It's very popular in the States. They serve it at most of the bars there." I take a healthy drink and hug the bottle to my chest. Jamie has found my box of Irish Crackers and is happily munching away.

"The Comte St. Germain?" I look at Jamie as he shoves two whole crackers in his mouth at once. "Master Raymond actually said _The Comte_ and I are siblings? I believe there are apples and bananas in one of the boxes as well, Jamie. A piece of fruit would not hurt you, you know." And I attempt to raise an eyebrow at him.

Jamie shakes his head at my feeble attempt at imitating him. "I do'na ken _siblings_ Sassenach but he said _The Comte_ was yer brother and Fergus' father. He said Fergus' mother was a _Beauchamp_ as well, but only by marriage. What is a banana?" and he begins rooting through another box.

"Call Katie and see if she will bring Willie here. Or does Fergus drive? Can he drive them both here?" I pull a banana out of one of the boxes, peel it and hand it to him.

He places the yellow fruit to his nose and smells it. His nose scrunches in disgust. "Aye, I suppose. Where's yer telephone?"

"Just eat it. I am not about to poison you, now am I? The phone is In the hall, by the front door. Do you know her number?" I break off a piece and pop it in my mouth. "Yum, yum, Jamie. You don't know what you are missing."

"Aye." He takes another drink from the whiskey bottle and hands it back to me. He swallows and kisses me, turns and walks toward the door, leaving the banana on the table.

Hhheellloo! Have you both forgotten I am even in the room?" Bree loudly states, exasperation clearly discernible in her voice.

Jamie stops and turns to face her. He raises an eyebrow at her in silent question.

Bree raises an eye brow in response.

I burst out laughing. Roger looks from Jamie to Bree and back. He walks the half dozen steps needed to sit beside me on the bench. "To quote you Dr. Fraser… Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. He's her father alright. No question about it. Just what have you gotten us into?" and starts laughing with me.

I look at Jamie. "Go. Go make your phone call. We will wait right here. I absolutely cannot wait to see Fergus and meet Willie. Hurry up now." I take another drink of whiskey and pass the bottle to Roger. "Here, you are going to need some of this…"

Roger takes the bottle and looks at it, then raises it to Bree. "Slàinte" he says and then takes a long drink.

I look at Bree. "That is your father, Bree. Biologically speaking anyway. Inside and out you are HIS child, no question my darling. His name is James Fraser. _James. Alexander Malcolm,"_ and I stop and look at Bree, _"_ _MacKenzie,"_ and I look directly at Roger and wink. I take the bottle from him and take a drink. That story will be another day. I think you and Jamie will need to talk about your family tree, my lad. " _Fraser._ That's the whole of it. Jamie. And I love him. Always have. Almost since the first night we met. It is a long story, love. I promise I will tell you everything and answer all of your questions. I'm just not sure right now is the time to start down that _Rabbit Hole_."

"Mama." Bree states, brow furrowed with question and her arms hanging by her side.

"Bree" Roger starts. "Looking at the two of you… watching you just now. There is no way that man is not your father. Mr. Randall might have raised you, but that man..." and he points at the kitchen door Jamie left through… "a blind man can see he is your father." And he shrugged his shoulders. "That might not be what you want to hear, but it is the God's honest truth and clear as a bell from where I sit."

Bree sighs, walks over and sits down on the bench beside me. She lays her head on my shoulder and sighs.

I lean over and kiss her on the top of her head. "It will be alright, midget. I promise. Frank will always be your daddy. He raised you, after all. But Jamie, he **is** your father. And he will want to be a part of your life as well, if you can find it in your heart to give him a chance. I promise, he's a good man. He did not abandon us. Honest. I know you do not understand right now and that you are very angry at him. Put aside anything you think you know or have been told. Let your father and I tell you our story, the truth of it, and then decide for yourself. Deal?"

Bree turned and looks at me, eyes narrow with suspicion. "I'll listen. I promise nothing more. Now, I'm starving. What do we have to eat?"

"You are **so** like your father. Have a piece of fruit while I make breakfast. I think I have what I need for pancakes. Check for syrup or honey in the boxes. I saw bangers in the fridge along with eggs. I hand the whiskey back to Roger after I take another good drink and make my way to the stove.

Jamie bangs the door open and smiles a _Large, Cheshire Cat Smile_. It must be good news. "Fergus and Willie are on their way. They are verra excited to finally see ye, Sassenach." He crosses to the table and stops in front of Bree. "Fergus and Willie are my sons, ye brothers. They are verra excited to hear they have a sister." To Roger he says "and will tease you endlessly about being her boyfriend." He stops in front of me, lifts me and sets me on the counter. I have not been kissed so thoroughly in a very long time.


	4. Chapter 4 - Family

Coming Home – Family

This one's for you Leibeezer...

"Have you been through Lallybroch since you've returned, Jamie?" Claire asked after the long kiss ended.

Jamie leaned back to look at her as his hand stroked the length of her arm. "No, no' inside the house. 'Tis been under lock and key since I've arrived though I've walked the land a bit. Willie and I. Been up to talk te Jenny, mam and da a fair amount in the year I've been here, wait'n for you to return to me." His eyes roamed the beautiful porcelain skin of his wife's face, noting the small wrinkles about the eyes and the corners of her mouth. She was lovely, maybe no' as young as he remembered, though neither was he, but she was still every bit his Claire. His penance must have been served in full for him to finally have her back in his arms. He would be verra careful no' to loose her again. He removed the kerchief that held back her hair, allowing the piece of blue and white fabric to fall to the ground as the newly freed tresses fell about her face. It was shorter than he remembered, now only a little passed her shoulders. He could not help himself as he reached up and ran his fingers through it's softness, inhaling the light smell of lilac that always seemed to hide in her hair as he did. He noticed the color, still held all those found in a burn but now with gray scattered through it. She would always be the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. He closed them and breathed deeply, taking his wife's scent into his lungs and sighed as his mind was flooded with memories, relishing every one of them. He rested his face up against the side of her's, cheek to cheek, and listened as Claire sniffed, touched and tasted him as well. She followed his sigh with her own then set her arm on his other shoulder and traced his ear with her fingertip. Each stroke reacquainting them with the other, the way they always had... though touch. They had always been able to find their way back to each other through physical contact, just as they had always been better together than apart. What had always been between them, since that first night Claire first laid her healing hands on him all those years ago, was still there between them now. His body responding instantly to the feel of her. That spark that had coursed through them, it had not been lost to time. When Jamie opened his eyes, he leaned back once again and offered, "God, I missed ye so Sassenach" and kissed her none too gently.

"I missed you too, Jamie" she gave back to him with her heart in her throat. "I won't be parted from you ever again, do you hear me?" Her eyes met his, infused with a fierceness and determination.

"No. Never again, Mo Neighan Donn. I give ye my word" and she rested her head back on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her nose in his hair. His arms, even after all these years apart, instinctively pulled her tightly to his chest just as her legs naturally wrapped themselves around him, pulling him tightly to her. They still fit perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. He raised his hand to cup her head and hold it firmly to his chest as he listened to her softly cry, from the same joy he too felt in his heart.

"I noticed the graves looked tended to when I visited this morning. I thought perhaps someone had brought a couple of goats up to feed" when she finally regained her composure. "If I had thought it was even possible, I should have known it was you" and she placed small, soft kisses on the side of his neck and under his chin. He tasted so good to her and she nestled against him tightly. _Please_ _let time stop. Now. Just for us_ , she prayed silently. _Let us catch up to each other._ She pulled back and looked into the face she thought, up until an hour ago, she would never see again. A tear rolled down her cheek as she ran her fingers through the red curls, combing them from his face. His eyes were still the blue of an untamed sea. "You have a couple of gray hairs, Jamie" she said and smiled as she pulled at one. "And a few wrinkles right here" she added as she stroked the tanned skin beside his eye with her finger. "Very distinguished," she giggled.

"Make that sound again, wifey, for I have missed your music." He begged as his finger traced down her ear and along her jawline after he tucked away a loose curl.

She looked at him. Her eyes resting on his and she smiled, like the sun that she always was for him. She rubbed her nose against his, kissing him as the Eskimos do and said, "as you wish, husband" and giggled again with the pure happiness that filled her heart.

"Alright!" Bree's loud voice startled them, followed by a rather loud _harrumph_. "That is enough. It is almost disgusting. Do you two think you could stop ogling each other long enough that we could have a small conversation before Fergus and Willie arrive? I'd like to get a few things straight about _my father._ "

Roger laughed. "Let them be, Brianna. They haven't see each other in almost twenty years." He threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her. "Take a good look, this will be us when ye come back for Uni break for Christmas, aye?"

Jamie raised an eyebrow and looked back at Roger. "Yer a Scot then, lad?"

"Roger Wakefield, sir" Roger said proudly, with a solid nod of his head. "Well, Mackenzie was my da's name. Died in the war, he did, along with my mam. Wakefield 'tis my mam's maiden name as well as the uncle that raised me."

"A MacKenzie. All the way back to Dougal and Geillis if Frank was as good at tracing lineage as I have known him to be," Claire whispered in Jamie's ear. "I will explain it later, promise" then looking over Jamie's shoulder at Bree. "I was thinking that you might give your father a tour of the house, while Roger helps me with breakfast. I want to have things ready when the boys arrive."

Jamie kissed Claire soundly one more time then lifted her off the counter, lowering her gently to the floor. "I would like that lass, if ye'd be will'n te walk the house with me, we might talk more privately" Jamie said as he turned to his daughter. "I ken it's me ye really wish te have answers about forbye. Best te ask me direct then, and as I would truly like te take in the changes of the home of ma birth before the lads arrive, we can accomplish both tasks as one. Would ye come with me, be my guide, and we can have your wee chat as we walk?" He asked this of her with a raised eyebrow and offered his open hand to her as he walked toward the kitchen door.

Bree looked first to her mother then to Roger, both of whom vigorously nodded their heads. "Alright then. Shall we start at the top and work our way down or vise versa?" She asked walking through the door Jamie held open, purposefully ignoring his extended hand.

"The laird's study would be a bonnie place te begin" he sighed, shaking his head slightly as he lowered his hand. "I won't be long Sassenach" he said blinking at her and followed Bree out the door, letting it swing closed behind them.

"Lets eat here in the kitchen, rather than the dining room, shall we?" Claire stated when she finally stopped staring at the closed door that now came between her and Jamie. It was all she could do to not run after him, feeling the loss of their connection immediately. "It will be much more like a family meal, don't you think?"

"Aye," Roger replied and turned from the door as well. "What I would give to be a fly on that study wall" he added. "Do you suppose she'll even give him a chance to explain?"

Claire looked at Roger and said, "Jamie had an older sister just as stubborn as he. A veritable force to be reckoned with Jenny was; strong minded, opinionated and certainly not meek. A very unusual woman for her time. When the two of them differed in opinion, which happened with some frequency, they could clear a room just by looking at each other. Everyone scattering to be anywhere else. We all knew they would never physically harm the other as their discussions elevated in volume, though I understood that Jenny, upon occasion, had been known to bring her brother to his senses, and to his knees, by grabbing him by the bollocks to make him see the validity of her point. Bree is every bit as hard headed as either of them. Lets just hope she does not decide to follow in her aunt's footsteps and grab her father by the balls." He and Claire smiled weakly at each other and began to clear the table.

"Shall we talk about you and my hard headed daughter then?" Claire cleared her throat and they began their own conversation as they busily cleared the table.

XXXXX

"Look'n at ye is like look'n at my mam, lass" Jamie spoke as his eyes searched her face. "Yer a MacKenzie 'fer certain, though yer eyes are the same as mine. Pure Fraser." Jamie's face broke into an huge grin as he stopped talking and quietly took in the whole of his daughter for the first time. _His daughter_ he repeated to himself. He wanted so much to shout it, loudly, and just grab Bree and take her in his arms... to clutch her tightly to her chest and swing her around the room. To try, physically, to tell her how full his heart was just seeing her, knowing she was real and safe and so verra bonnie... but just one look at his daugher's face made him squelch the urge. She was clearly not ready for her da to smother her in a hug... just yet, he hoped. So instead he asked with a grin, "Is there any of yer mam in ye?" as he opened the door to his father's study, stepping aside to allow Brianna to enter before him.

Bree laughed as she walked passed Jamie and entered the room. "Mama says I'm all Fraser but I think I have her brains and humor," she stated emphatically. "Though I will assume my stubbornness is all Fraser as well" and crinkled her eyes when she ended the statement with a return smile. "You know I saw a portrait of your mother, though I suppose I should say my grandmother, once, when I was younger. Ellen, I believe my mama called her." Bree offered her father. "While we were on a family vacation... mama, daddy and I" she added just to remind him that Frank was the person she identified as her father. "It was hanging in a museum in America. I had no idea who she was at the time, but even at twelve, I instantly understood we were related, the moment I saw her. Her eyes were different... gray rather than blue and without our cat shape to them, but other than that one small difference, looking at her was like looking at myself in a mirror. We caused a bit of a scene at the time. Anyone that saw myself and the painting together, couldn't help but noticed the resemblance. One woman even said something to her companion about it. Out loud, making others turn and look. It made daddy very angry, mostly at mama, for taking me to see it, though mama professed she had no idea the portrait was even there. She swore to us that the last time she had seen it had been here at Lallybroch." Her head cocked as she watched her father's reaction. Not a hint of emotion anywhere to be seen.

But Jamie recognized the importance of his daughter's statement. In one breath she had told him what he wanted to know. Frank was the person she called father, yet by the age of twelve she knew he was not the person that had any hand in her creation. "Aye, my mam loved to paint," he replied. "When she had the time for it. My da was so proud of them. He had each of them framed and hung on the wall at the top of the stairs, near the bedchambers," and he pointed his finger up toward the ceiling in emphasis. "The portrait she painted of herself should be up there." Jamie stopped and cleared his throat. More than two hundred years had past, there would be more that just a few paintings missing here at Lallybroch, of that he was sure.

"Grandmother painted herself?" Brianna uttered with a gasp of surprise. "And it's hanging in the National Gallery in Washington, D.C.. Wow!" She exclaimed eyes wide surprise. "Do you paint?"

"Hum?" Jamie said as he glanced around the Laird's study. "No. No, I have no gift for sketching or paints," he said in an offhanded manor when he spied his father's desk, the only piece of furniture still in the room. His heart shuttered as he approached it. "Your grandda and my godfather built this desk" he said as he rubbed his palm across the desktop, wiping layers of dirt and dust from its surface. "I have his gift for working wood." He looked at her. " 'Tis a craft, like painting, aye?"

Brianna smiled and nodded her head. She started to reply but saw a look come over her father... his mind was thinking other thoughts right now. She would stand quietly and let him have a moment.

"They built it..." He shared with Bree, whispering quietly with pride, "right where it stands, in front of the window." It had not moved in all these years. He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disbelief. His da's chair was missing as well as his mam's turkey carpet but the desk, both large and heavy was most likely too cumbersome to have been removed from the home. For that he whispered a small blessing. How many had called Lallybroch home since Jenny? How many generations of Murray's had raised families here? How long had the house been empty, he wondered? And now it was home to Fraser's again. He closed his eyes and suddenly he could see his da sitting in his chair behind the desk. A stern look upon his face.

" _Jamie" Brian began with in a firm voice, laced with disappointment. "What were ye think'n? Run'n off te go fishing all day? Shirk'n yer chores." There was an undertone of anger carefully held in check as he spoke._ _Brian leaned back in his chair and looked hard at his only surviving son. He had so much still to teach him. This would have to be another lesson, as good as Jamie's intentions had been. Add that he had dragged Ian Murray into the deed made Brian shake his head in shame. His hands pressed in open prayer tapping his chin._ " _Ye told no one where ye were go'n and left yer sister_ _Jenny te finish yer chores, in addition to those of her own_."

" _But da, I caught a nice, fat, brown trout, for our supper tonight, know'n ye'd be back from Inverness with supplies today."_ _He stood straight, shoulders back and explained to his da while Ian stood by his side with his eyes never leaving the floor, his feet shuffling against the pile of the carpet. Jamie watched his da's unwavering eyes and added "and Ian caught one as well" in haste, before his father declared his judgment. Ian nodded his head profusely while still staring at his feet, unable to meet his Laird's disappointed stare._

 _Jamie saw his da did no' have an inkling of softness about his face. "We thought to have a feast for yer return." He grappled for anything that would talk his way out of his father's disfavor and prevent the inevitable... his father would bend him over the fence rail for this if Jamie could not make him see reason_.

" _A feast, ye say, of one fish?" His da stated, rather than asked, and then clicked his tongue. "So, no' only did_ _ye leave ye chores unfinished - animals unfed, stalls dirty and no wood cut or wood bins restocked. Ye decided te lollygag all day by the stream, leave'n poor Jenny te do everythin'. And in trade for miss'n a full day's labor, ye brought home barely enough for our supper table. And ye left the fish fer yer sister te clean and prepare as well." Brian leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk, palms down, fingers splayed. "Just how was she suppose te do that with no firewood with which to cook?" He stood. Towering over the two boys. "Ian, best take both fish and head home now lad. Yer mam will wonder where yer about."_

Jamie remembered it all so clearly, like it was yesterday. _The look he and Ian exchanged before he nodded, telling Ian he was to do as his da had said - take both fish and go home. Ian looked back at the Laird Broch Tuarach and gave him a pleading look of mercy for Jamie's sake._

 _Brian nodded his chin toward the study door, dismissing the lad._

 _Ian turned, placed a hand on Jamie's shoulder, gave it a squeeze and silently walked out the door, closing it softly behind him._

 _The corner of Brian's mouth curled into the beginnings of a smile before he could think to stop it. Ian had looked to Jamie for direction and had done as Jamie bid him. And his son had not made a sound over Ian taking both fish. Brian realized his son had the makings of a Laird in him after all._

 _His father had given him ten lashes over the fence after Ian left and then Jamie, of his own accord, walked straight to the wood pile, chopped and stacked firewood for over an hour. Then, without being told, restocked the wood bins next to every fireplace in the house. Eight total, he still remembered. Afterwards he went to the barn, cleaned the stalls then fed and watered all the animals. He ignored Jenny's calls for him to come in for supper while he continued with his chores. It was long dark when Jamie finished his work. He was sore, dirty and tired. He washed, using the cold water and soap outside by the back door, brushed his boots off and entered the kitchen._

" _I'm truly sorry I ran off and left you to do my chores, Jenny. I will 'no do it again. Ever." He apologized to her and then without another word ate the stew and bread that she handed him, gratefully. He washed, dried and put the bowl and spoon away himself, not wishing to leave anything for Jenny to do in the morning and banked the kitchen fire for her._

 _He found his father in his study. With his head high he spoke, "I am sorry da. I will no' forget my chores again and will always tell Jenny and Mrs. Crook where I am headed if I leave the farm. I am sorry for including Ian in my mischief and will apologize to Mr. Murray for leading Ian astray of his duties as well. Good Night da." and he turned to leave._

" _Jamie" his father spoke sternly and he'd stopped half way out the study door._

" _Aye?" Jamie looked up. That's when he noticed his godfather sitting in the other chair by the fire and smiled at him, shamefully. He was fond of Murtagh and now embarrassed by his days poor behavior. It was a sure thing the amber liquid was whiskey in the glass his godfather held in his hand. Someday he would be old enough to share a glass with them. Grow from lad to man. But when would he be old enough, he wondered._

" _Did ye have yer supper?" His da asked as he motioned for him to come back in and close the door. Brian pushed a stool up next to where he sat by the fire and motioned for his son to sit upon it. Jamie's eyes grew wide with surprise, but quickly and silently did as his father told him. Before is father changed his mind, he leaped to the stool beside his father's large, covered chair. And when he was situated, his father handed him a glass, just like the one his godfather held and when he looked, it had but the barest amount of the amber liquid in the bottom. He looked back up at his father, with what must have been a look of pure shock on his face that transformed into a very large grin. Ear to ear._

 _His father smiled, as Murtagh chuckled. "You earned it today, my son. Sit. Drink yer first whiskey, then off te bed with ye." Brian tousled Jamie's hair then rested his hand on his son's shoulder, ready to pat his back after he took his first swallow._

He smiled to himself as he opened his eyes and continued to roam the rest of the room. Gone as well were the window dressings, tables and chairs that furnished the room in his youth. The smell of burning peat was absent as well. The built-in shelves that surrounded the fireplace were, of course, still there but empty. His father's extensive collection of fine books were gone. There were a scattered few in their place, but he could tell by the paper covers they were much newer publications. He reached a hand out to finger them when he noticed the lass quietly watching him.

Brianna. He shook his head to clear his mind. He needed to concentrate on the lass. He needed to fine a subject that would open her up, have her talking to him. "How much has yer mam told ye about me?" Jamie asked as his finger ran down the spine of one of the books. He recognized none of the titles as he unconsciously removed one. _Charlotte's Web by E.B White._ The paper wrapped about the book had a drawing of a red-heided girl holding a pig. He immediately envisioned Bree as a little girl and frowned as he stared out the window... if no' for the tragedies of Culloden, Claire could have stayed, Bree would have been born upstairs and grown up at Lallybroch. She would have grown up with he, Jenny, Ian and their bairn. Frasers and Murrays would have been her family, no' Frank Randall. How different life could have been for her. Would she have liked it, he wondered? He sighed, audibly, and returned the book to it's place on the shelf. He knew he was stalling. His mind searching for some common ground, a place to begin this important first conversation. Their beginning. He had so much he wanted to say to her, but he needed to go canny, no' overwhelm her. How much did his daughter already ken? She was verra wary of him, but no' so shocked as Claire to see him here. It felt almost as if she'd expected him. When he and Gordie returned to the shop late yesterday, out on a errand to pick up sacks of ash to make the printing ink from, Fergus had said a tall, red-heided lass had come by the shop asking for him. He knitted his brow as he looked up at her when she finally spoke.

"My mama?" Bree repeated with a raised eyebrow when she turned to face this father of hers. She had been lost in her own thoughts for a moment, trying to decide how to ask him the question she really wanted answered. "Absolutely nothing" she stated assuredly and looked him straight in the eye. While it was not consciously her intention to anger him, if she admitted her true feelings, she was really quite angry with him. She looked at him. Hard. It was clear to her that this man and her mother knew each other, quite intimately, and cared for each other very much. There was no question of that. It was also painfully obvious that they had been separated for a length of time and equally obvious that she was a product of whatever time they'd spent together. She had watched him from her bedroom window as he cautiously followed her mama down the hill and into the yard. Even from her window she could see the look of utter joy as he watched her and they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other since they had become aware of each other. She believed that this man was most definitely her biological father; she looked too much like him to believe otherwise and she had been painfully aware that Frank Randall, while she would always think of him as her daddy, was in no way connected with her creation.

What had separated them? Or why? And why, if he were alive and living less than an hour from Inverness, had he given her mama up? Why had he abandoned her, send her back to a man he knew her mama no longer loved, pregnant with his child? Did he did not know she was pregnant? Maybe he, just today, found out of her existence, she thought. Was he was married? Jamie said she has two brothers but hasn't mentioned a wife. She would have heard if her mother had asked, wouldn't she? Her mama knew. Knew he was married. They had a torrid love affair and when her mama had become pregnant, he had sent her mama packing. Yes, that explained it. Then Bree unknowingly shook her head. No. Neither of them were capable of that. They loved each other too much.

She looked into what were her own eyes reflected back at her and saw the pain her honest reply had caused. She offered an explanation in return. "My daddy told me of your existence. He knew and wrote it all in a letter to me. He never gave it to me, not while he was alive. I found it in his desk. He told me he looked for you after mama returned to him. To find out if she was telling him the truth... about some stones and traveling back in time. It must have been the historian side of him, I suppose" Bree said, swallowed and then continued. Daddy left me a file with all of his research notes. I have papers that show the existence of a Laird of Lallybroch, a Brian Fraser. Married to an Ellen MacKenzie and of the four children they had together, one of which was a _James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser_. I have a copy of a Deed of Sasine that the same James Fraser signed, giving Lallybroch over to a James Murray in the 1740's. It has two witness' signatures on the document... one is a Claire Beauchamp Fraser."

"But the thing of it is," Bree paused and took a breath, "daddy told me about meeting a printer named Alex Malcolm, alive and living in Broch Mordha. Almost a year ago. While he was looking for Lallybroch. He knew you were my father the moment he saw you, he wrote." Her eyes burning with pain. Her father had been here all along and never tried to find them. Bree recognized that what Jamie, or was he really Alex, and her mama had was totally different that the relationship her mama had with her daddy. Her daddy did not touch her mama or look at her the way Jamie and her mama did. And she knew her daddy was having affairs. She could just tell. She had even met some of them, though her daddy had introduced them to her as "co-workers". Her mama had told her nothing of Jamie, her daddy had. Her dad's letter had told her enough to enable her to find her natural father if she ever wanted to. It told her who and where he was. Alex Malcolm, not James Fraser. A printer in Broch Mordha. Not a Laird and soldier from the 1700's as her mother had always professed. The whole Fraser name appeared to be just a ruse.

In fact last night she and Roger had gone for pizza and a pint. To Broch Mordha for pizza. And they had actually, eventually, done that. There was pizza in the fridge as proof. What her mama did not know is that they went via the Printer's Shop. She'd gone with every intention of confronting _Alex Malcolm_ and demand he stay away from her mama but the proprietor was away. She had instead met a man that resembled her mama a great deal – tall and lithe, with dark eyes and curly, brown hair. And he spoke french.

"Why?" Brianna asked.

Jamie's face pinched slightly, from the sting of the statement. He turned his gaze from the books to look at her. No, Brianna did no' have Claire's glass face but he could tell she was'na lying. Claire had said nothing of him to her. Why? Why had Claire no' told their child about him? Her father by blood? He would understand if she was a wee bairn, too young to comprehend, such as Willie was. He had no' told Willie yet that he was the lads true da due to his tender age. Too young to understand. Willie still only ken him as Mac, the groomsman at Helwater. He had told Willie no more than the essentials when Master Raymond brought them here to wait for Claire. Fergus had been told more, but he was older and ken Claire. Fergus had taken one look at Willie and ken the truth of the matter and Jamie had given instructions to Fergus to say nothing to the lad. They were Frasers, that would never change, but they would use the name Malcolm for now, as Master Raymond had suggested. When Willie started school, he had given directions to use Malcolm there as well.

"Why? Why what?" He asked his daughter in reply.

Bree cocked her head and stared at him. _Really? s_ he thought. Men can be so obtuse sometimes. "Why did you send mama away? Did you not love her? Did you not want me?"

"NO!" Jamie practically shouted. The fear in Brianna's eyes made him stop and take a deep breath to calm himself. What was the lass think'n? How could she think he no' want Claire or her he thought, as his fingers drummed his thigh. They were the very reason he came with Master Raymond. To find his Claire. To find her and their child. To be together. "No," he said again with a more carefully controlled tone and closed the distance between them. "I never stopped love'n yer mam. Never for one day did I stop want'n her, needing her." He shook his head in disbelief. "I sent her away because I had to, I needed keep her safe, so that ye both would live." He watched Bree as she processed what he had told her. Her face softened with understanding and Jamie found he could not help himself. He stepped forward and encased his daughter in his arms. Bree stiffened at first, not expecting him to touch her, let alone hug her, she but began to relax as her father whispered words to her in a language she did not understand and pulled her into his chest.

Bree, responded, melting into his embrace as the sound of his voice soothed her. She rested her hand on his chest and found her father's heart to be pounding with almost the same intensity as her own.

XXXXX

Claire listened to Jamie and Bree as they came down the stairs. Their conversation was easy and full of laughter, like they were old friends. The two were talking. Jamie had used diplomacy and care with his daughter, found commonalities and had forged a solid base for their new relationship. Claire's heart soared with happiness to hear it. New music to add to Lallybroch's old halls. His baritone voice and Bree's light laughter were easy enough to hear since Roger, concerned for Bree, had propped the kitchen door open, so, should an argument arise between father and daughter then both of them would hear and be able to intercede before irreparable words were exchanged. Claire stopped beating the eggs and just listened to the sweet sound. She turned and smiled at Roger, as he had also stopped his work to listen to the two of them banter as well.

"My da built Lallybroch for my mam, carried her over the threshold the day they were properly wedded. They were verra happy here. Chose te raise their family here – my 'aulder brother Willie, my sister Jenny and me. We had a good life. 'Twas a happy home." They could hear him say. Claire knew it to be true. Lallybroch had raised generations of Fraser's and Murray's and now would do so once again. Perhaps a new MacKenzie was to be added to the mix.

Bree said something Claire could not understand and Jamie replied, "British soldiers. With their sabers. Te teach us Scots a lesson. Ma sister Jenny would never allow Ian and I replace the panels. Said she wanted it left, te remind us all of what the English had cost us."

She heard the hum of Bree's voice as she spoke again and silence as Jamie reflected before answering her. A sudden _Bang_ interrupted the silence.. the sound of front door being flung open.

"Mac?" A boy's loud, treble voice resounded off the walls. "Mac, where are you?"

"Right here Willie." Claire heard as Jamie's strong baratone call back from the parlor. She heard the running of feet and an _Oof_ and _Huff;_ the easily recognizable sounds of a young boy hurling himself into his father's embrace.

"Yer gett'n heavier every day lad" was followed by Jamie's rich laugh from the hall now. Claire stopped and closed her eyes as she listened to her second most favorite sound in Jamie's vast repertoire of noises. Her first was the soft sigh he made when he released inside her, a sound she had never quite forgotten and hoped to be reacquainted with very soon. She released her own quiet sigh at the thought of all that had been returned to her today, and not yet 9 am.

Willie had Jamie, most likely his entire short life and she so wished Bree had grown up familiar with her father's voice as well. That would be possible now, at least until Bree left for Uni in the fall. This was a rare gift and Claire had no intention of squandering it. She would make sure that Jamie and Bree had plenty of time together, that she had a chance to get to know her father before she had to leave. Who knew, she might even learn to speak Gaelic.

With Roger's help the table had been set and breakfast prepared. She placed the coffee pot and pitcher of apple cider on the table and entered the hall. Roger set the large platter of eggs and sausages and another just of toast on the table and followed right behind her.

There was Jamie, with a small, light brown haired boy in his arms. He had his face buried in Jamie's neck, but shyly peeked around as Jamie tried to introduce him to Bree. "Willie, this is Brianna Fraser" he said with pride. "She is my daughter." He finish with a proud fatherly grin plastered on his face.

"Daughter? Your daughter Mac?" Willie inquired with an obvious demand for further explanation.

"Aye. Daughter." Jamie spoke directly to Willie. "Remember I told ye I was married 'afore I came te Helwater? Te Claire? Well, Brianna is my daughter. She is a miracle from my wife." He sounded almost boastful as he blinked at Claire.

"But Mac, you told me your wife was dead and you never mentioned a daughter." Willie spoke with confusion.

"Aye, 'tis true lad, but I misspoke. I told ye because that 'tis what I ken. Today I discovered I was mistaken. For here at Lallybroch, my home when I was a lad of yer age, I found my wife. Alive. And a daughter I did'na ken I had." He said as he looked at Claire with an ear to ear grin on his face. "Today has been a most fortuitous day for me, Willie" and Jamie jostled him in his arms, making Willie giggle. "For you, me and Fergus. My wife has finally found me and brought my daughter for me te meet. What a grand present, aye?"

Claire smiled, then heard the front door close and turned to look. A tall, lean man walked toward her, a head full of shoulder length dark curls bounced as he did. He slowly slipped his hat from his head as he walked toward her, his smile growing with each step he took.

Claire's face mirrored the young man's. "Fergus?" She whispered and placed her hands over her gaping mouth. Her eyes softening with tears. "Oh dear God... is it really you?" She stepped into his open arms and wrapped her own around his neck, emitting a rather loud sob when she did. "Oh goodness Fergus. It is really you..." Claire pulled back and they both stood still as statues as they stared at each other in disbelief. Her hands gripped his shoulders firmly, fearing he might perhaps be a ghost and disappear if she did not hold on to him as if her life depended on it. Moments later, neither believing the other was real, they hugged each other again. Tightly.

When they finally parted, Fergus leaned forward and kissed Claire on both cheeks. "Milady..." He swallowed. "I told Milord I knew you would return, ne pas désespérer, _(do not dispare)_ that you would find us..." Fergus' smile full of love and warmth. "And today of all days, the day of his birth." His brown eyes danced across Claire's face in awe. "Master Raymond said he would bring us to you. Milord had almost given up hope, je suis désolé de dire." _(I am sorry to say)_

Claire turned to Jamie and asked, "Is that true, Jamie? Had you almost given up hope that we would ever find our way back to each other?" Her heart fluttered when she saw the sorrow on her husband's face. What Fergus had spoken was true, so she allowed her face to show him she had allowed the same possibility to enter her thoughts as well. Jamie managed a small smile and sighed. He walked toward her as Claire cupped Fergus' cheek in her hand and said "You are no longer the twelve year old boy I remember. You are all grown up Fergus. A man... a fine, handsome man... of what, Thirty?"

"Trente ans, oui Milady. _(Thirty, yes Milady)_. I can not believe you remember." He said nodding his head in reply. "I could not believe it when Milord called and said to come right away. That you had returned. Mon coeur est très content _(My heart is very happy). Es-tu ici pour rester?_ _(Are you here to stay?)_ "

"Oui Fergus. Ici pour rester. Je ne quitterai Jamie ou tu jamas plus." _(Yes Fergus. I am here to stay. I will not leave Jamie or you ever again)_ Claire stated with certainty. She looked over Jamie's shoulder as she placed her hand on the small of her husbands back, and called to her daughter, "Bree? Bree honey, come here and meet Fergus. Your brother. And if I understand it correctly, I believe you are my nephew as well?" Claire stated with question. Bree walked to her mother's side and linked arms with her mother as Roger joined them, taking his place beside Bree and subtly took her hand in his. Jamie shifted Willie, to hold him in one arm so he could slip his other around Claire. He let his hand rest on her hip, his fingers coming to rest on the side of her large belly and stated with a clear voice, "Nous ne serons plus jamais séparés. Nous sommes une famille une fois de plus." _(We will not be separated ever again. We are a family, once more)_

Claire started "Bree this is Fergus. Fergus Claudel Fraser. He..."

"We've already met." Bree interrupted.

"Though no' formally." Roger added. "I'm Roger Wake... MacKenzie" he said clearly and extended his hand to shake Fergus'. "I'm your sister's boyfriend."

Jamie eyes narrowed as he cleared his throat to speak. Claire quickly pinched his arm to silence him, making Fergus laugh at the surprised look Milord gave her in return. "You are a brave man to say that in front of Milord. I do not think I could be so bold." Fergus smiled at Roger as they shook hands. "I think we will become good friends. As it is always wise to choose brave ones." Fergus glanced at Jamie once again and then added, "I think you have excellent taste in women as well. Brianna is a true beauty," and he smiled endearingly at his newly found sister. Fergus then leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to Roger. "I think we now know what Milord would have looked like had he been born a woman, no?"

Roger sputtered and let loose a loud cough all while turning very red in the face. Oh Fergus and he were going to be great friends, all right. He knew it in that instant. Though now, thanks to his new friend, he was stuck with a picture of James Fraser dressed as a woman in his head. And it was no' verra pretty at all. The image sent a shutter down his spine, so violent in fact, he almost let go of Bree's hand.

Claire looked with puzzlement from Fergus to Jamie and asked the question. "How is it you have already met?"

"La felle à tête rouge qui est venue à la boutique la nuit dernière vous demander Milord. _(The red-headed girl that came by the shop last night asking for you)_

"You went to the print shop last night, Bree?" Claire looked at Bree then to Roger and back. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to meet my father." Bree stated simply.

Claire opened her mouth to inquire as to just how Bree knew Jamie was living as a printer in Broch Mordha, while she, herself, had no clue, when...

"You are Mac's wife?" a small voice asked, interrupting abruptly.

Claire turned her focus to the young boy in Jamie's arms. He had raised his head from Jamie's shoulder to look at her. He had a round, full face, wavy chestnut hair and blue, cat shaped eyes, exactly the same as his father. She sighed. She had gazed quite often at the portrait that hung upstairs. Jamie as a lad. This boy was every bit his fathers son except for the hair color. Willie's long dark eyelashes batted at her with an unknowing flirtation that made her smile. He cocked his head to have a better look and gave her the same half grin that had endeared Jamie to her so long ago and melted her heart to Willie in that very instant. The child even had his father's charm. No woman stood a chance of creating a child in their own image with Jamie as their father apparently. Inside or out.

"Aye Willie. This is my wife Claire" and jostled him in his arms.

Willie extended his hand to touch her cheek and Claire turned her head and placed a quick, soft kiss on his fingers.

He giggled and snuggled back under his father's chin, eyes never wavering from her, and smiled.

Two deep dimples appeared. One on each cheek. "Mother's hair and dimples then" Claire pronounced quietly to which Jamie simply replied "Aye" and kissed his wife on the head.

"Why Mac?" Bree looked at Willie and asked.

" 'Tis his name, of course." Willie replied looking at Bree. "MacKenzie. That's his name. He is a groomsman in my grandfather's stables."

"We should save the tale until after we eat," Fergus interceded before anyone else could reply. He placed his hand on the young boys back and rubbed it comfortingly. "I smell sausages, Willie. Do you?"

"I'm starved." Bree announced. "Let's eat."

"Before the food gets cold," Roger added and pulled Bree toward the kitchen.

Willie struggled out of Jamie's arms, grabbed Fergus' hand and ran to catch Bree. He took her hand in his small one and all four disappeared into the kitchen.

Claire rested her head on Jamie's shoulder. A family, they were. An eclectic one at best but they were a family none the less.

There was a knock at the door. "Now who could that be?" Claire asked as she approached the door. "The O'Connells" she reminded herself outloud as she readied to open the door. "I had forgotten about them completely. I hope they are hungry for breakfast."


End file.
